The Man From The Mist
by rumjhum88
Summary: Dr John Watson was a happy man. A very happy man. Until one day a man came into his life. From the mist. He developed unknown feelings for this unknown man who could any day dissolve into the mist again. Johnlock AU. Don't own Sherlock or anything related.
1. Chapter 1

**Do let me know if you want me to continue.**

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John was trying very hard to manage two overloaded shopping bags in both his hands. The thought of getting his keys to open the door when he reached made him mentally groan. On such occasions John regretted his choice of living alone. He could easily move in with Mary. They have been together for a year now, more than enough time spend together to start to live in. Mary had insisted him on it on several occasions also. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. For apparently no reason. John was not a commitment phobic, he rather liked being committed rather than dating around. Mary was the perfect girl for him, loving, caring, understanding, nurturing and very beautiful. John's tiredness evaporated by merely talking to her, her presence gave him a warm homely feeling. Sometimes he did feel that it would be lovely to come home to such reassurance and happiness every day. And sometimes… well there were issues within himself which neither he could identify fully nor solve.

_Should have taken a cab. _He thought and huffed in exasperation. A week's supply was much baggage, keeping in mind that he was a doctor, a food lover and a good cook. There were always different types of sauces, crème, jams, spices in his kitchen and he made it a point to never run out of them. He knew it would be heavy, yet he felt like walking. He was regretting his decision now. It was a damn cold night. It was dark and wasn't helping his condition. He wanted to turn up his coat collar against the cold but couldn't, his hands were aching more in the cold air with the weight of the bags. He was almost wishing for a saviour and hoped Mrs Hudson would be home and he could just shout or knock and she would be good enough to open the door for him.

He stopped in his tracks to adjust the weight in his hands, he was just a few buildings away from his flat. As he started walking he saw an alley to his right, it was dark and heavily misty. But that was not what caught his eyes.

There were two long legs stretched out from the darkness, it seemed like the owner was lying with his feet out on the pavement and the body lying in the misty darkness of the alley. John's eyes widened in surprise and he ran with urgency towards the body.

The man didn't stir hearing his footsteps. It worried the doctor more. He left the bags outside the alley and went to the man swiftly. He couldn't see his face in the darkness. He could only make out that he was a very tall and lean figure. John knelt beside him and before touching him he spoke,

"Hello? Can you hear me? are you all right?"

There was no response. He took out his phonee from his pocket and pushed a button to put the light on screen, he then turned it towards the man.

He was a young man, in his thirties. Dark curly unkempt hair, extremely pale, haggard and with sharp features. He was breathing slowly. John took his pulse, it was slow. The man had passed out somehow. John debated for a moment about the next course of action. This was an unknown man. The logical course of action would be to take him to the hospital. But he was a doctor himself and his house was nearer. He wanted to help, he couldn't fathom the damage right here right now and didn't know if this man would survive the journey to hospital. After a few more minutes he made up his mind.

"Sod this! Taxi!" he ran out of the alley to hail a passing taxi. He pulled the man in it with the help of the driver along with his things.

As the Taxi stopped before 221B Baker Street he got out hurriedly and called Mrs Hudson to open the door.

"Oh dear! Who is he?" She said as John pulled him out and with some help put him on Mrs Hudson's living room sofa.

"I don't know."

"Oh!"

He paid off the cabbie thanking him. The man lay on the couch motionless he's feet dangled out from Mrs Hudson's dainty little sofa. In the light of the room John fully saw the man for the first time.

He wore a well-worn long coat with a dirty scarf, his face was unwashed and unshaven, his cheeks were hollow which only highlighted his magnificent cheek bones, his shoes were torn, he had a look of overall distress. Yet there was something about him that said he was not a man from the streets, maybe it was his height that made him look so majestic.

Mrs Hudson bought water and a soaked towel on John's request. John pressed the towel gently on the man's forehead and slowly started to rub his face with it, kneeling beside him.

"You shouldn't have bought him in you know." said Mrs Hudson, concern in her voice.

"He could be dangerous."

John sighed, she was just voicing the doubts he had already gone through. But it was done now. Something about this man was very intriguing, John couldn't pin down exactly what, he found himself getting gradually interested in this unknown man.

_Who is he? Why was he in that alley? His appearance betrays him, why is he in distress? I hope he's not some antisocial whom I have just helped and bought doom onto myself and poor Mrs Hudson. _

The man stirred and moaned slowly interrupting John's thoughts and startling him. John took away the towel and spoke softly.

"Are you okay?"

The man didn't seem to hear him. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and shook him gently.

"Sir, are you okay?"

The man gave a start at John's touch and put his hands over his face as if someone was going to hurt him. John took away his hand instantly. The man was in shock.

"It's okay, I'm a doctor, look at me please."

The man was panting, he heard John and slowly removed his hands to look at him. His eyes gave John a jolt. He sat up straighter, deep, piercing, grey-blue eyes, asking thousands of questions at a time. Slowly his breathing became normal and he started to look around. His eyes wandered around the room, Mrs Hudson and then came to rest on John again. He looked less agitated, his eyes not so inquiring seemed he had gotten an idea as to where he was and more importantly that he was safe.

John cleared his throat and bought himself back to business.

"What happened? Were you attacked?" John asked the man softly.

The man contemplated before answering, he looked at the glass of water on the table next to him. He attempted to get up but by the immense effort he was making John could tell that he was extremely weak. He put his hand on the man's shoulder again and gestured him to lie down. He then took the glass in his hand and raising the other man's head with another he helped him to sip. The man kept looking deeply into John's eyes while he drank. John felt uneasy for some reason. As he laid the man again he gave out a contended sigh. After a moment he spoke.

"I passed out."

As if his eyes weren't enchanting enough, his voice was a rich baritone and he sounded sophisticated, no cockney accent, his voice thundered into John's blood stream. He involuntarily swallowed.

_Why is this man on the road?_

As if the man read his mind and said

"I am homeless."

_This cannot be. This cannot be true at all. _

John looked at him in utter disbelief, though his clothes and overall appearance made it impossible to deny it yet John just couldn't come to terms with it.

"You're what?" John asked incredulously.

"Oh poor lad, let me get you something to eat." Mrs Hudson intervened. She went inside to get some food for this surprise guest.

John was still looking at the man who watched Mrs Hudson vanish into the other room and turned his gaze back to John's.

"You seem surprised." He said and John sensed a bit amusement in his voice though his face was stoic.

"Yes, yes I am surprised" John said.

"Why?" the man asked. Though his eyes said he already knew.

"You don't seem to fit in."

"There are a lot of educated and qualified people on the streets doctor, the number may actually astonish you."

It was not just that. John thought looking at the man. Something was very regal about him. It felt like he was some kind of a prince disguised as a beggar. John just couldn't picture this man sitting, living, eating on the streets. Something was very very very wrong about the scenario.

But before he could open his mouth to enquire further Mrs Hudson came and placed a tray of food before him.

"Eat dear, you'll feel better." She said kindly.

The man smiled gratefully at her and with some effort sat up. John could tell that he felt a mild vertigo as he sat up, he took the bowl of soup in his hands and ate hungrily. John got up from his leaning position and walked to stand by Mrs Hudson who was looking at the man with compassion and affection.

"Poor lad, god knows what may have led to his condition. Life is so unfair sometimes." She sighed sadly.

_Yes, life is unfair. A man like this on the streets? Unbelievable. if he walked out of a corporate office in a suit nobody would feel any difference. _

The man had some toasts and drank some more water. After that he looked visibly better. Now John was in dilemma again. What to do with him? Ask him to leave now that he's okay in the cold night to sleep on the pavement or wherever he dwelt? Or ask him to stay with some risk attached to it? John felt he couldn't bring himself to do the first one. He wasn't sure though that his landlady would allow the second one. The man looked at him again and stood up a bit unsteadily.

"I should take my leave now." He said standing up.

"I will always remember your kind gesture towards an unknown man like myself, thank you Madam, thank you doctor." He said with a polite nod, with that he walked towards the door.

Mrs Hudson looked at John questioningly as if asking him to take a decision, surely this man had an effect on her too.

"Wait." John said hurriedly going towards the man who had just turned the doorknob of the flat. He turned and looked around, confused.

"You are still weak and as a doctor I deem it unfit for you stay outside on such a cold night." John said authoritatively.

"I live upstairs, you could spend the night there."

The man looked stunned. He hadn't expected this. This much generosity towards an unknown man who claimed to be homeless.

"I …I really shouldn't. It's really more than I deserve. "he said with downcast eyes. Something inside John constricted. He didn't know why.

"It's for your own good." He said in a husky voice.

The man looked at him intensely for a moment and then left the door knob.


	2. Chapter 2

The man climbed the stairs slowly with John right behind for assistance. John came in front once they reached the landing of his flat and opened the door for the man.

The man entered and took a look around. The flat was befitting to the doctor's nature. Carefully but plainly decorated, everything in place, cosy and warm.

"There's a room upstairs…" John began but the stranger abruptly cut him short.

"I'll be fine here."

He said looking around and eventually sat on the sofa without even asking. He was instantly at ease, sitting there rubbing his neck and breathing comfortably he didn't look like a stranger at all. Instead to John's utter amazement the man looked as if he owned the place and would order John to fetch tea.

"That would be lovely." He suddenly said looking at John startling him.

_Jesus Christ! Did just read my mind?_

"Pardon me?" John asked incredulously.

The man's expression changed. He looked as if he realized a mistake and said correcting

"Oh! I am sorry doctor, I thought you said you're going to have tea. I think I'm still dizzy, I am imagining things." He gave John a very apologetic and worn out look.

John eyed the man suspiciously. He was sure he didn't think out loud. Nonetheless he went to the kitchen saying

"I think you should have some."

The man on the sofa smiled knowingly, unnoticed by John.

As John put the kettle on and tried to put his disarrayed thoughts together. _What is it about this man? He's just another man on the streets, one that maybe I pass every day and never take notice of, then why am I so intrigued by him now? Now that he's sitting on my sofa in my living room why is it so distracting now? Am I conscious? Worried? Afraid? _

He huffed in exasperation. For some reason he packed some food in a brown bag and left it on the kitchen table. He took the tea to the man in the next room who was now standing and inspecting intently the book racks around. he turned around as soon as he felt John's presence. He took the cup being offered looking intensely in to John's eyes, probing.

John involuntarily shivered and swallowed. He felt exposed, vulnerable under that gaze. _Why does he keep doing that? _ He looked away clearing his throat.

"You are a bit adventurous by nature I see."

_Wait a minute! What?_

"What tells you that?" John asked, his voice serious.

The man gave him a knowing smile.

"Many books on the two world wars, much less number of medicine or anatomy books, travelogues on the most adventurous places on earth, many old travelogues written when the earth was not fully explored."

"I like exploring…that means." John said frowning, half to himself and half to the man in front.

"And the fact that you are letting a completely unknown man with doubtful identity stay at your home for the night only after a few minutes of acquaintance." He said sipping his tea. "I could be dangerous." He looked at John over the rim of the cup. He seemed amused.

John felt as if he was a vial full of sensitive liquid and this man was the scientist who was holding the vial, mixing, stirring, boiling, cooling, measuring the changes carefully.

John tried to steady himself again. This was not supposed to be happening to him.

"I am a doctor above all." He said looking directly at the man.

He still looked amused. _How very interesting. _"And a very kind one." he said smiling.

John gave a curt nod and went into the kitchen again. He took some bread and applied some jam, this was all the dinner he could think of making in the current state of his mind. He just wanted to be out of the sight of those piercing grey blue eyes and the man who was reading the depths of his mind as if he were an open book.

He got out with the plate in his hand to find the man sitting on the sofa again watching him intently. John unconsciously licked his lips.

"There's some food on the kitchen table. I'll be in the next room. Good night." Without waiting for an answer he almost flew to his bedroom and closed the door behind, which he never did on normal occasions. But this was not one of those.

The man on the sofa put his palms together, finger tips touching, as if praying under his chin and gave another knowing smile in the direction which John vanished.

Back in the room John tried very hard not to think of the man sitting on the sofa in the next room, he tried to ignore that he was feeling a bit disturbed by his declaration that he could be dangerous. He tried to suppress the feeling of being extremely aware of the man's presence in the flat, it was almost tangible, like he was not in the next room but sitting right behind John. He felt tingly on the back of his neck and felt an overpowering need to look back.

Finally after much effort and promising not to be led into another situation like this he fell back on the pillows and into a very disturbing sleep. He dreamt of cold, piercing, grey-blue eyes, billowing long coat and a tall dark figure.

"_I could be dangerous."_

John sat up on the bed with a muffled cry, sweating and throwing his covers away. Sunlight flooded the room, he became conscious that his mobile was ringing. _The alarm. _He switched it off and took some deep steadying breath to clear his disoriented mind.

_The man!_

Realization struck and made him bolt out of the bed. He ran into the next room opening the door.

The man was gone and so was the brown bag on the kitchen table.


	3. Out of mind

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John started the day debating himself. No matter how much he tried he couldn't ignore the fact that he was disappointed by the man's discreet departure.

_What did you expect? He would stay around all morning and maybe make you tea? Oh for god's sake it is a good thing that he has left without further conversation! You were dreading it only a few hours ago! It would have been very awkward and surely it's not very nice to expect expressions of gratitude constantly for helping someone in trouble. He expressed enough yesterday. Why would he stay further? For what? This actually saves the embarrassment of asking him to take his leave, this was rather a good judgement on his part. What would I have said anyway? Come again if you need food or a doctor? My doors would always be open for you? Maybe I'll never see him again. Maybe he'll be lost in the mist from which he came. There are so many people on the streets, I don't remember any of the faces, maybe I don't look closely or never try to remember. I had never seen him before. I would have never forgotten that face if I had. I will never forget that face, those eyes, that voice. Maybe I will see him again. We are in the same city, maybe we would stumble into each other again…on another misty night like that._

John shook his head under the shower, he didn't have any control over his thoughts. This was unusual and unexpected of him, thinking about a man he only met once, a man who is of no importance, a man rather suspicious and above all A MAN! He leaned forward with is hands on the wall under the shower. He blamed it all on the lack of sleep.

"Oh did he just left? Just like that?" Mrs Hudson's disappointed tone further disturbed John. He felt irritated. Why did she have to remind him of his lack of manners?

He felt himself looking around him carefully on the way to St. Brat's at every face that passed by, every person sitting on the pavement, every corner, every alley. A swish of a coat, a dark head, some blue eyes, he felt like he was seeing him everywhere in everyone.

_A bit not good. _He chastised himself.

"Mary? Do you think I'm a bit adventurous?" John asked enthusiastically, looking at her. He was visiting her that evening like he did almost every day now.

Mary quirked an eyebrow and looked mischievously at him over the rim of her tea cup.

"What do you mean Dr Watson?" She asked playfully.

Though John liked her demeanor and enjoyed the turn of conversation he didn't get his answer. Was it possible that Mary never even noticed what he was like underneath? And that man, that unknown man in a few minutes of acquaintance had found out something about him that even he didn't acknowledge fully?

Yes, yes he loved adventure, he wanted to visit unknown, unexplored places, he wanted risk, he wanted danger and he wanted a life which was not as mundane as this one. He never fully acknowledged his inclination though thinking it was just a childish fascination, thinking that it was extremely immature of him to think about losing what he had, a fine life, a promising career and a beautiful and loving girlfriend. Underneath he knew it was not enough and it was certainly not all he could live for.

_Is that why this man intrigues you so? He gives you a sense of adventure? Danger? _

_God I have to stop thinking about this. This is ridiculous._

_Don't deny it Dr Watson. You are just waiting for another chance meeting._

_Oh do shut up!_

"What is it John?" Mary asked coming close to him, she stood behind his chair and wrapped her hands around him. John realised he was sitting there with knitted eyebrows and an extremely agitated expression which concerned her.

"Oh? Oh! Nothing…nothing at all." He said pressing a hand on Mary's and looking at her smiling. Who gave him a questioning look.

"It's just…just a man I met yesterday…" he started looking away.

Mary let go of him with a huff of relief and said laughing

"Oh! A man then! The way you were looking I thought you were having an affair!"

John laughed too. But his mind kept on repeating.

_Now now no denying Dr Watson, you are clearly mesmerized by that man._

_No I'm not!_

_Why it's so apparent Dr Watson! It nearly gave your girlfriend a scare!_

_It was just miscommunication!_

_You are attracted to him._

_No I'm not!_

He took a deep breath closing his eyes and closing his mind shut. He needed to rest. He wanted the comfort and warmth of Mary. Which she readily gave him. He wanted to find peace in the familiarity of his life with Mary and get the elusive, distractive, unknown, intriguing man out of his mind.

"What was his name?"

John shot open his eyes from his mild slumber at Mary's voice, she was wrapped around him, warm and comforting. John's mind drifted again, the balance giving away to turbulence again.

_Why was he always there?_

_You don't even know the name of the man you are attracted to._

_I am not attracted to him! I can barely remember his face!_

_Is that why you were looking at every face that passed you all day?_

_This is not happening._

_He told you._

_What?_

"_I could be dangerous."_

John shut his eyes close again, pretending not to hear her question. She didn't coax any further to John's much relief.


	4. Chapter 4

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"How are you doctor?" A deep enticing baritone called from behind him making him stop in his tracks. A voice he hadn't heard for a week now and he almost counted the hours since he had first heard it. Now suddenly on this on this cold Sunday morning it almost pierced him like an arrow and held him still. It was a misty, early, not many people on the road. John was on the side walk in front of his home heading towards Mary's house.

His first thought was _run! Just don't look back. _

However there are always second thoughts accompanying the first one when you're attracted to someone, which you try denying desperately and yet want to make sure. So, with the second thought he turned around and faced the man from that eventful night in broad daylight. John gave out a sigh of relief involuntarily.

There he stood in all his tall glory. He looked taller today in daylight standing straight-backed, the same long coat covering him, with the same old scarf. Coat collar turned up against the cold. Making him look all the more mysterious. Messy mop of dark curly hair, he looked like never bothered to brush, he's face so much paler but cleaner, fresher, he had shaved. And those eyes, looking like blue autumn sky, were they so blue when he first saw him? _Maybe not_. John thought.

_Is that mist around him? Or am I just imagining things? _

The man walked up to him with that all knowing smile of his. He stood watching John. John almost visibly shook himself out of his reverie.

"Where…um…how are you?" John said blushing involuntarily at his fumbling.

"On the streets, good."

The man answered both the spoken and half spoken queries making John blush some more.

"I came to apologize."

"For what?"

"leaving."

John noticed he didn't mention leaving without notice, he just said 'leaving' like he was not supposed to do that.

"Well, inevitable I guess." John said trying to smile but failing miserably looking at the crystal clear blue eyes looking into his.

"Yes." The man said solemnly, like he meant it in some other way that John clearly didn't know, like he was trying to get across some coded message which John couldn't decipher.

"I should be going." The man said breaking eye contact.

"No! wait!" the desperate words escaped John's mouth before he knew it or could adjust the tone of it. He hated himself for sounding so.

The man looked at him again, clearly not astonished.

"Ahh, would you like to have breakfast?"

The man quirked up an eyebrow. "I would love to."

John was fidgeting as they waited for the food to arrive in a cosy little coffee shop. The man was looking straight at him, his gaze contemplating, unflinching, his presence overbearing. John was looking anywhere and everywhere except for the man.

"That man is married." The baritone startled John.

"What?" he asked bewildered.

"That man on the last table with the young girl. He's cheating."

"How do you know?" John asked brows furrowed.

"The idiot has hidden his wedding ring in the coat pocket, the outline clearly visible. Also there's a mark on his ring finger."

"How do you know he's cheating? She could be a friend." John said musing about how the man could see such minute details from metres away.

He didn't reply and pointed at the couple again. The man kissed the woman's hand and she blushed.

"I am good at reading body language." He said simply. John turned and was pinned by the glare again. John felt extremely self-conscious at the comment.

"Like I can say that you have developed an attraction towards me by your fidgeting, sweaty palms and avoiding eye contact."

John's breath hitched and he felt a large amount of blood rushing to his face. He couldn't believe it.

_This is absurd! _He thought. _He just CANNOT say things like that to me! Oh that insufferable infuriating git! Instead of thanking me he is insulting me! and what am I doing? I am god damn blushing instead of protesting! Intolerable._

His embarrassment gave away to anger now, anger not only with the man but also with his own reactions.

"Now look here…"

"Sherlock."

The name quietened him again for a few moments. He had again forgotten to ask! What was happening to him? Why did this man have such an influence over him?! _Sherlock. _John whispered the name in his mind.

He swallowed and tried to speak again. It was easy to regain his composure now that the man had turned his piercing gaze and was digging hungrily into his plate of pancakes with strawberries.

"Sherlock I am just trying to help. There's nothing of the sort that you are indicating." John said indignantly.

"Mmmhmm." Said Sherlock not looking up from the food.

John felt a lump in his throat. _He must be so hungry. God knows when he ate last, when he ate good. _

"Why?" Sherlock asked again.

The baritone broke the line of thought and startled John. He couldn't remember what he had said a moment ago suddenly but then remembered.

"Because I'm a doctor. And by your judgement a kind one." He said reasoning.

At this Sherlock looked up and smiled. Then he dug into his food again. The fleeting smile making John's stomach flip. John noticed he hadn't touched his own coffee or toasts. He huffed and began eating.

"Why me?" Sherlock asked finishing his food and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

John looked up at the man. He didn't say anything. Sherlock was looking at him deeply again. He stapled his fingers under his chin and looked at the doctor with a grin.

"There are so many like me on the streets doctor. Why am I the only one being subjected to your generosity quite regularly?" he drawled.

John swallowed his food, took a gulp of coffee, licked his lips. He was buying time. He didn't want to sound like an idiot to this extremely intelligent man.

"It is not possible for me to help everyone, although I would really like to. And because you happened to cross my path quite regularly." He felt satisfied with his answer.

"Or that you are hiding your _attraction_ under the mask of _compassion_." The man said plainly looking at a stunned John.

John was just about to answer when he quickly pointed towards the couple at the back of the shop looking very enthusiastic "Look! She's going to slap him!"

"What?!" John turned to look at them astonished. The girl held up a hand and gently stroked the man's cheek lovingly. There was no grudge in her eyes, she was most definitely not going to slap him anytime soon.

_Poor girl._

"She's not going to…" John stopped as he turned around and found the chair empty in front of him.


	5. Gone again

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"Have you proposed to her yet?" Asked Mike.

"Do we hear the wedding bells? Soon?" he added taking a gulp of bear.

"No. I haven't actually thought about it. Haven't moved in." John said contemplating.

They met up at a pub after work. A kind of weekly event for them.

"Why? Are you waiting to get married first?" Mike asked genuinely.

The absurdity of the thought made John laugh.

"Oh! No no nothing like that. It's just that…" His smile faded as he was lost in the very familiar confusion.

Mike looked at him intently, searching for an answer.

_Go on, say it to your friend._

_What?_

_That you're in love with a homeless man named Sherlock._

_Oh God not again!_

John had the distinct feeling that his mind was actually going out of his mind. Or something like that.

"What is it buddy? Anyone else?" Mike asked eyes wide in anticipation. Oh he loved gossip.

"What? No, no. it's just that I'm not sure." John said quickly not paying Mike's speculations any heed.

"About what?"

_Everything._

He kept quiet instead and looked at his palms.

After a moment Mike said amused, "Oh! I know, you're just waiting for someone better to come along."

_Or someone worse. _John thought.

"Mary is perfect Mike. She's a great girl. More than I could expect." But something in his own voice didn't sound convincing to himself. He sighed. _What has gotten into you John?_

Mike opened his mouth to say something but thought the better of it. The evening turned out to be a rather silent one after that.

Once they were outside Mike gave him a friendly half hug and said kindly, "Don't worry about things much John. I'm sure everything will fall into place."

John smiled at his long-time friend feeling relieved and contended to have a friend like him.

As they parted ways the inner turmoil in John rose up to surface again claiming all his attention.

_Well if you fall in love with a man then you're gay._

_And if you fall in love with a man with questionable identity and suspicious whereabouts then you're an idiot. _

_I can't just be in love with a man I barely know! _

_Are you not?_

_No!_

_Then what's bugging your mind?_

_My mind apparently!_

_Why?_

_I don't know._

_Oh! Stop pretending!_

As John walked through the cold night he neared the alley where he had found Sherlock. It was dark and misty like that night and John felt like he would find him lying there again. By some mysterious twist of the universe or time he would be back in that night again. He would find Sherlock again. The sigh he released made a cloud in front of his face before dissolving in the mist.

He had just passed the alley when he heard the now extremely recognizable baritone, making him stop in his tracks again. It had been three days since he had last heard it.

"Had a nice evening doctor?"

_This was sooner. _John thought, he had expected to have to wait another week or so until the next encounter.

He didn't turn around instantly. He heard the man stride out of the dark alley and come close to him. Only then he turned to face the man who was still meters away from him, standing with a swirl of mist around him, not entirely visible in the only low light of the light post behind them. The man's face was barely visible with the light and shadows playing on his angular features.

They stood facing each other, silently. John could almost feel the all knowing smile on the other man's face.

"You didn't expect me so soon." The baritone spoke breaking the silence after what seemed like a very long time.

"I didn't expect you at all." John lied in a steady voice knowing full well that it would be caught.

The answer came in a deep chuckle, refuting his claim.

If John was in his right mind he wouldn't stay there. He wouldn't have stopped in the first place. He wouldn't have done anything that would lead him to a situation like this. This man in front of him could be anything, anyone. He could be a robber, murderer, terrorist anything. But John was not in his right mind, not since he had met him.

He was an idiot after all. He sighed as he realized.

"Who are you Sherlock?" he asked tentatively.

"I told you." The man replied not in the least ruffled.

"I want to know who you really are." John said wearily.

"Why can't I be what I have told you?"

"I don't know. I don't know what but there's something very wrong with the scenario."

"Obviously there is. Economic depression, people losing Jobs, ending up on streets, unemployment…"

He was cut mid-sentence by John.

"That's not it." John said gravely, the man was lying incessantly, but why would he even bother to tell the truth to him? And why would he bother to listen?

"Then what is it John?" the man drawled and came and came nearer. John could feel the penetrating eyes on him.

_What are you expecting from this man John? Who is he? What is he doing to you? Where will this end up? Oh! You know quite well where this will end up. He'll just leave again, making you stand in the dark looking for him. He'll never be there, this will never be real, this can never be anything real. If you fall for him he'll let you, he's already leading you but he'll vanish again someday, leaving you broken. Maybe he would come back, maybe he would vanish for good. Who knows? Don't risk everything you have John. Let this go. Go back to the secure stable life you have. Don't plunge into darkness holding onto something that is not even there. _

"What do you want Sherlock?" John asked resigning.

The man studied John as if he could read all he thoughts that passed through John's mind. The all knowing smile gave away to enquiry, then understanding.

John knew without saying that he understood what John's mental state was. As if in agreement to his thoughts the man gave John a curt nod and started receding in to the mist. John knew full well that maybe this is the last time he saw the man if he didn't stop him. A part of him desperately wanted to stop him, it was feeling like a caged bird. The other sane part though told him it was only for his own good.

Before he knew it the man had again vanished into the mist.

John felt cold.


	6. Perturbed

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_How did he know my name?_

For several days John couldn't believe for certain that the man was gone for good. He was extra cautious when he walked out of the door. Kept a keen eye on passers-by, every dark corner, every alley, every slouched figure on the road. Until he realized he was not trying to make sure that he was gone, he was trying to find him.

_It was all just a dream. _

John told himself firmly as he tried to get back in his _real_ life once again. But since he met the man his ability to differentiate between real and unreal had been quiet marred. Sometimes the life he had been living for so long seemed to be a haze.

"It was just a passing fancy John." Said Harry nonchalantly.

"You were just charmed by him, that's all"

John kept silent. He knew he had to go through this, it was for his own good. He needed to tell someone about it and be told that it was all just a passing phase and nothing serious and that he was being utterly ridiculous. Nobody could tell him these things as blatantly as Harry, his sister and quite enjoy it.

"And you can't do something like that to Marry John. You just cannot. Some promises are not meant to be broken once they've been made." She turned to look at her brother seriously. They were at her place. Chatting over coffee. When that evening John had come knocking on her door she knew it right away that something was the matter. They didn't get along very well. But there was a strong bond that refused to fade away, they had taken care of each other and been there for one another and they would always be. Although she was quite prepared for some discovery she was not quite prepared for what actually she was presented with.

Her brother, straight as an arrow all his life had now come to the realization that he was excessively attracted to a man he had only met twice, with dubious identity and no place to live. The first thought that came to her mind was that he was simply tricking her brother to get a roof. She told John so and to her light astonishment John didn't refute her claim. He seemed very earnest in taking her scolding and her views in his stride. Now this was new and this was serious. Very, very serious. John was trying hard to get himself out of this seemingly emotional mess. So Harry pressed on something she knew would turn her brother's mind around. His morality.

"She loves you John and she has been with you this long. She has a claim over you which you cannot deny."

John listened on intently, his eyes locked on his tea cup in hand.

"She certainly has NOT done anything to deserve something like this. John, there are times when I come across some girl more beautiful or maybe more clever than Clara, a girl who catches my fancy for some reason but I cannot just give in to such trivial attractions and hurt my wife. " Harry said with a bit of strain in her voice.

_Trivial._

John rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. Harry was right. What exactly was he doing? maybe this was all a well-planned scenario, the chance meeting, the crossing of paths, the walking away, each and everything not just a twist of fate but a well calculated plan. The man was cleaver enough to find out deepest things about his nature within minutes of their acquaintance and maybe he was just exploiting them to his own benefit.

_Why shouldn't he? _Thought John as he walked out of Harry's house that night. _He has every reason to do that._

_But how did he come to the conclusion that I would like him? I don't like men!_

_Maybe he didn't. Maybe I was obvious with it. I showed him what he could do to me. _

He remembered the looks he must have given that man when he was piercing him with those steely eyes. John shuddered at the memory, even the memory of those eyes were unnerving. And that voice.

"_I could be dangerous."_

How could four simple words have such an impact on a man's life? A man who has been heterosexual till now, a man who is in a perfect relationship with a perfect girl, a man who never had any secret sexual fantasies, a man who was a simple, mundane, regular bloke with nothing intriguing or different about him.

Till now.

Questions. Unanswered questions were all that John was left with after the departure of a shadow that was Sherlock.

And some dreams.

_John was sitting on a stone bench in a park in the middle of the night. There were no lights except for the full moon which was melting over the dew soaked dark grass beneath his feet. They looked like dark velvet, with the same sheen and softness. There was a wind blowing soft and balmy yet ominous, like it was bringing something with it, something from the dark recesses of the nature surrounding him. The lamp post beside the bench was dark. There was nothing except for the black velvety land that stretched as far as John could see. Yet there was something, something unseen, something alive. Something beating other than John's own heart._

_John knew he shouldn't be here. Because it was dark and lonely, because he hadn't had the faintest idea where this was and whether or not he would be able to go back. _

_Yet his mind was completely at peace. He felt calm, rested and less agitated than in his everyday life. If he were to be killed here by some unfortunate incident then he wouldn't regret it. He could almost feel his blood seeping through a wound and mingling with the wet, cold, silvery grass beneath his feet. Oh! how the moon will shine over his richly coloured life fluid, still warm, still capable, yet wasted. _

_And suddenly he knew he was there. He had to be, the ominous blowing of the wind, the night not quite still though there being no sound or movement but palpitating with anticipation of something forbidden._

"_Why are you here John?" the forbidden voice spoke from behind him._

_John knew if he had turned his head he would see the tall dark figure standing right behind him with that all knowing smile on his face. His coat billowing in the wind, pale face paler, almost silvery in the clear moon light, his eyes glistening like a deep loch surrounded by mysteries._

_But he was held still by some unseen force rendering him incapable of turning. He didn't want to turn anyway, he feared it like a person is feared to look around in a dark alley over his shoulder, that he might face a ghost._

_And his voice, the voice that ran through John's veins like warm blood sounded so cold, so dead. He did fear seeing a ghost. He didn't turn, the voice continued._

"_I thought you were afraid John, afraid of the dark, of the unknown, of the unexplored."_

"_You said I liked unexplored."_

"_That's what your books told me. Perhaps I was wrong."_

"_Why do you say so?"_

"_Because you chose to be in the light of your mundane life which has nothing else to offer you instead of exploring unknown darkness with me."_

"_That life gave me security, stability, love." John paused a few moments before adding, "That life gave me you."_

_He could feel the smile behind him._

"_Has the thought occurred to you as to why that life gave you me?"_

"_No." John said thinking about it._

"_Maybe it's a sign for a new life."_

_John felt his breath being stuck in his lungs, this man always did this to him. He strangled him, his breath and thoughts. Yet he set him free. Into unknown darkness, into fear, into anticipation._

"_I can't just end this life." John said in a dry voice._

"_You can begin a new one."_

_John felt like is heart had ebbed away, either it had stopped beating or it had begun to beat so fast that he didn't feel it. _

"_It was nice to see you John."_

"_Don't go away."_

"_You don't want to let go of what is inadequate."_

"_I can't."_

"_I'll have to go then."_

"_Please stay."_

"_I could be dangerous."_

John would wake to the emptiness of his rooms, the sunlight, the sweat on his forehead, the perturbing questions, the loneliness he thought he didn't have the reason to feel.


	7. Chapter 7

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It took John a whole month to finally register the fact fully that whatever happened was a mistake and he was lucky enough to have gotten out of a situation of which he could have lost control completely.

He decided it was about time he fulfilled his duty towards Mary. The commitment would also help him avoid future disruptions of this kind. He knew internally that he was still conflicted and his reasoning for the engagement was not right. He hadn't got to the crux of the problem which led him to such a situation in the first place, he still didn't have the answer as to why he had kept Mary waiting for so long and why had he fallen for an unknown man.

He decided some questions were better left unanswered. Especially when there were high chances of finding facts that could turn his life upside down. He left the places unexplored remain so. Sherlock had read him wrong he guessed. He was afraid of the unexplored after all.

It was a big day for the doctor. Today he was going to convey his wish to entwine his life with Mary to her. He had bought a beautiful ring and after much consideration he had settled on the venue where this significant confession was going to take place. His home, 221B Baker Street. As this was an intimate matter he wanted to make every aspect of it very personal. He himself had picked Mary's favourite flowers to decorate the house, he would prepare the food himself and was off to buy her favourite wine.

_Mary would be pleasantly surprised by this simple but intimate gesture._ He thought. _She's a simple person with simple desires. _He sighed involuntarily feeling heavy hearted suddenly. He chastised himself quickly. _So am I_.

Once everything was set he would call and invite her over. He had confirmed previously that she didn't have any prior engagement that evening. Everything was perfect. Everything should work out finely.

Sometimes while walking on an unfamiliar road when you face a turn you feel a certain anxiety, you don't know what's waiting for you at the turn. You don't know if it would turn out to be your worst mistake if you take that turn, sometimes you have a choice to back out. Sometimes you don't. And sometimes you just take a turn voluntarily just for the thrill of it. You don't face such anxiety or expect such thrill while walking on a familiar road. But the fact is the twists of fate, the turn of life can make a road well acquainted very unfamiliar and can put a certain amount of unexpected trouble in your way just like that.

John took the turn just to walk into disaster. Once again.

As he approached an alley on his side he looked away on purpose. He had made it a point not to look into such places anymore. He wanted to avoid the person who might just emerge from there again instead of seeking him anymore.

A sound made him look back.

Time stood still. John closed his eyes filled with regret for a moment, conceding defeat and opened them filled with concern for the man in front.

Sherlock was leaning on a waste bin heavily, holding the lid with both his shaking hands. His lower lip bled profusely. He was panting hard.

Feeling John's presence he turned his head to the side. John saw as his expression gradually changed from disbelief to utter contempt at John's presence. He looked deprived of every basic need for several days. Sherlock looked away.

Something inside John broke at the look. His words seeped from his mouth without his consent.

"Sherlock! What the hell has…"a look of disgust halted him midway.

_Disgust!_

"Leave me." the baritone spoke looking away again. As if it physically hurt him to look at John for a longer period of time.

John wished he could.

"You're hurt." His voice a barely audible whisper.

"Oh! Am I?" A sarcastic smile from the man.

"You're bleeding." John said swallowing, lowering his gaze. He just couldn't look at the man. His eyes were so accusing. John knew this was not his fault but somehow he felt responsible. Sherlock's eyes made him feel responsible.

"Yes I am." the man said contemptuously.

"Let me…" John said mustering some courage.

"Just leave."

John looked up as if electrocuted.

"You cannot see my wounds."

The man's eyes set fire to John's soul. He stood mortified. Sherlock turned and started to walk away. Something took over John. He went after him and caught him by the sleeve of his coat. Only to be pushed away vehemently.

"Don't touch me!" Snarled Sherlock.

"Sherlock please." John could barely speak, he was breathing hard, he couldn't think properly and felt like the ground was melting away beneath his feet.

"Haven't people told you to stay away from me?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"Haven't they told you that I want to manipulate you into letting me inside your house? Haven't they told you that a homeless man like me may only want one thing from you? Aren't you afraid John? Don't you think I was luring you into some trap? Don't you think that even now I'm trying to break you off from your girlfriend and make you mine for the sake of monetary gain?"

Something was creeping up John's chest and making it very difficult to keep breathing.

The man laughed looking at him. A sarcastic, half maniacal laugh that made John shiver.

"Sherlock…"

The man stopped laughing and looked at him gravely.

"What doctor Watson? Are you going to play _doctor_ again? You want to treat my wounds _because_ you're a doctor?"

The man came towards John and gripped his shoulders so tightly that John felt them bruise.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes with burning anger and absolute repulsion.

"You are a liar Dr Watson. You are just a bloody liar. Nothing else." Sherlock spat out the words like they were poison. They pierced John like poisoned arrows.

He let go of John. And with one final warning he went away.

"I never want to see your face again."

John stood there leaning on the wall as darkness and cold engulfed him slowly.

Mary wasn't invited that night. The ring was tucked away safely.


	8. It Burns

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"_You are a liar Dr Watson. You are just a bloody liar. Nothing else."_

Every sip of the alcohol went down like acid. Intensifying the burning sensation underneath his skin. John was already too drunk to discern the time. Yet he kept on drinking, there seemed nothing of more importance, nothing more potent and nothing more reasonable than to drown every sense in the body in the fluid which would bring blissful oblivion. A soothing balm to all the senses which burned with Sherlock's scathing words.

His ears burned, Sherlock's words had entered them like molten lead, his skin burned from Sherlock's touch which scraped, his lips burned by the fiery breath which had touched them when Sherlock spoke. His whole respiratory system burned from the smell of Sherlock's blood, his breath, his sweat, the dirt on him and _Him_. His eyes burned as the sight of Sherlock's deprived, angry, disgusted look kept crawling back to them. His head burned as the poison of Sherlock's words continued to spread.

His heart burned at the realization that everything Sherlock said was true.

_Make it stop. Please make it stop._

John fell from the sofa sobbing furiously holding his head in his hands. It would have been better if Sherlock had hit him with a red hot poker. He could have handled it, he could have treated it like any other wound like a doctor. He could have dealt with a wound he could see and touch. This unseen, undefined burning sensation went unattended, because it had no cure.

_But it has._

Sherlock was the last sane though in John's mind before he gave in to oblivion.

With morning came determination, came resolve and came an unnerving hangover. But John had to think past it. He gathered himself up and readied himself to face some home truths. Like a crumpled paper is straightened out gradually by spreading it out firmly and pressing hands stroking it he started to flatten out his thoughts as he took aspirins, made tea and sat down with a cuppa.

_First of all_, he thought _I don't love Mary._

This was hard to profess. Mary had been a substantial part of the known stable life John was living for so long. She had been more than a friend, he had been an anchor, she had been a stabilizer in times of unrest, she was truthful, dutiful and committed to John.

"_She certainly has NOT done anything to deserve something like this." _

Harry's words from their last conversation echoed in his mind.

_She's right. Mary doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to be deceived like this. She doesn't deserve to be dragged on like this. She doesn't deserve to be lied to for such a long time. She deserves a much better man, a man who actually knows what he wants and is not irrecoverably screwed up like me. She deserves a fine life and some truthful answers from me. _

_This is going to be hard. _John thought swallowing as a series of expected reactions crossed through his mind.

He quickly switched his mind to another crucial matter at hand.

He had to find Sherlock. At any cost.

_That is going to be near impossible._


	9. Home Truths

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_She's a strong woman. She'll be fine. _John told himself standing on her doorstep. He was about to break a heart, a bond, a relationship, several hopes and dreams. He felt dreadful. But continuing it knowingly that it is a sham would be more immoral. He steadied himself and braced himself for the worst scenario. He would have to go through it.

But what followed was completely unforeseen.

Mary was a fairly intelligent girl and certainly not an emotional fool. She knew John well. So when she opened the door that day and took a good look at his appearance she knew what was going to happen. There had been tale tell signs for the past few weeks, it was only a matter of time for the matter to come to light.

Mary could have asked Harry or Mike but she was very sensitive and fiercely private about such matters. Though it was hard for her to believe that her John would fall for some other girl yet she tried to figure out who she could be. She had made a mental list of females close to John, mostly from the work place but no one seemed to fit the bill. John was friendly but aloof with them, he had introduced her to them indicating that she was his fiancée.

_Then who? _

Well, she was about to get her answer now.

They sat in silence for almost hour facing each other but not looking directly. The silence was getting very uncomfortable but they both were buying time. John's pulse rate was on an overdrive and he kept telling himself to just say it and get it over. But guilt choked him every time he tried to open his mouth.

Mary was buying time because she was keeping her emotions in check, she didn't want to create a scene. It wouldn't help. But the suspense was taking a toll on her patience now.

"Who is it John?" She said not looking up.

It startled John. He looked at her questioningly.

"Yes I know. You've changed in the past few weeks. It was detectable. Just don't know who I lost you to. " She said glancing up at the man she loved.

John's face became dark as he bowed his head in resignation. He didn't know he was that obvious. Oh he was alright. To Sherlock, to mike then how could the person closest to him miss? He sighed and looked up.

"You haven't lost me to anyone Mary. Right now there is no one in my life I can assure you that. And there are chances that there never will be." He said finally.

Mary looked away in an attempt to control the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes unbidden and bit her lips.

"But I have recently realized that I am still capable of being attracted to someone else and that is not right." John continued.

"And who is that someone else?"

"It's a he." John said plainly.

"What?" Mary said stunned at the revelation.

"I know how it sounds Mary. I hardly know this person and I'm not sure if I'd ever end up with him. But the truth is I'm very much attracted to him." _Understatement of the century._

Mary looked at him as a hint of hope flickered in her wet eyes.

"Maybe…maybe this is just a passing phase…maybe things could go back to being like they were." She said urging.

John swallowed and smiled sadly. _If only she knew._

"Mary, have you ever thought why I haven't been able to take the next step?"

Mary looked away as realization struck her. Didn't she know it always? Didn't she just fool herself constantly by saying that John just needed time? John loved her. But he didn't love her enough. She thought it was enough for her but as it seems it wasn't enough for John.

John went in front of her and knelt down. He took her hands in his.

"Mary."

She looked up at him sobbing.

"I want to tell you that you are the most kind, special, caring, deserving, bright woman I've ever had the good fortune of coming into acquaintance with. I on the other hand am a complete and utter idiot, totally screwed up moron who doesn't know what's good for him. But I at least have the right mind to let you find a better life for yourself. Please forgive me Mary."

"It's not easy John. It's not easy." Said Mary shaking her head. Broken.

"I know. But it's certainly not the worst." John said empathically.

"Why did this have to happen?"

"Believe me Mary, I have the same question." _But I'm glad this happened._

After sometime when Mary had somewhat collected herself and John found it necessary to let her alone for some time, he went out.

_Now for Sherlock._

John said to himself as he walked into the buzzing, crowded streets of London in search of his unknown destination.


	10. Search

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Finding Sherlock would be tough, John knew that much. But exactly how tough it would be John had no idea. Like he didn't have any idea where to begin. Going to the police would mean unnecessary trouble for them both. What would John say to them? Why was he looking for him? And what if they did find Sherlock? Would he agree with fact that John did this out of concern, out of his need to find him? Would he like police hurling him to John? No, most definitely not. God he was already so mad at him. He was not even sure that Sherlock would even talk to him if he found him at all.

Refused to be bogged down with such apprehensions John started his search at the usual places. He made it a point to check the alley he had found Sherlock in the first time and the one he saw him last every day. John made a routine of getting out earlier than usual for work and search the possible places and doing the same while returning. This routine continued for a week yielding no results. John started to get out at night also. He knew he could run into trouble anytime, so he carried his gun with him. Good thing he had learnt to handle it and bought one. Another giveaway of his adventurous nature.

The dark alleys and homeless shelters became familiar grounds for John. He saw the grim reality of people living on the road vividly. He extended help whenever there was a need in front of him. Be it money or medical assistance. The thought that Sherlock was somewhere living in such conditions and he wasn't able to reach him pumped all blood from his heart.

_What had the man done to deserve such a living? _The question tormented him always. Meanwhile Harry had come to know of his break up and had made her displeasure quiet clear. She said what John was doing was not only idiotic but it bordered on insanity. The thought made John smile ruefully. This wasn't insanity, not at all. If he's unable to find Sherlock and tell him that he would embrace any darkness that comes with him with pleasure _then_ he would go insane. The way things were going there was high probability of such a thing happening.

"_I never want to see your face again."_

The words would keep him awake at night.

_Is that why I cannot find him? Is he deliberately hiding from me? does he know I'm looking for him?_

For days his rigorous search yielded no result. He saw his greatest fear coming true. How do you find someone who is like mist? Everything about Sherlock was like the mist. His sudden appearances, his overwhelming presence, the mystery surrounding him, his pale skin, the cold feeling when he left. John was literally chasing the mist itself which it seemed did not have the will to manifest itself anytime soon.

The longer the time stretched the more the uncertainty grew. Was this all a big misunderstanding? Misinterpretation of actions? Maybe Sherlock didn't mean any such thing at all? Maybe he was just teasing John? maybe he did such things? And John, based on such trifles had turned his life upside down. He had broken up and was now looking all over London for a man he didn't even know the last name of.

Looking back at the episodes when Sherlock had come and gone it seemed so comical. John Watson, a doctor reaching forties falling head over heels for a handsome young man with piercing eyes and baritone voice, who gave him some trivia about himself and made him dance like a puppet.

What if now the strings were cut? The show no longer entertaining?

What had he done?

The fact that everyone around seemed to believe the worst didn't help the matter at all.

"It was childish of you!" exclaimed Mike loudly.

"You should really sit down with Mary at least for once dear." Said Mrs Hudson.

John couldn't blame them. He couldn't blame people who actually cared for him and were genuinely worried about the state of affairs. But he couldn't bring himself to think that all this was a huge mistake and that Sherlock had given him false promises. He had the dignity to accept his responsibility in the matter. Sherlock had not given him any hopes whatsoever. If it was to be believed he had shown an interest in him that could be interpreted in varied ways. To take it as a romantic interest was his own understanding or misunderstanding. With Mary he was totally truthful. How could he remain in a relationship with someone when he could feel his entire being enraptured in some other? No matter what Sherlock's real feelings were for him there was no denying the nature of his own interest in the man.

John was perfectly sure of his decisions. Though not happy. And the final reverberation rested on Sherlock. Whether John would be happy or this much miserable and confused for the rest of his life lay in the hands of the man who was as elusive as mist.

These thoughts occupied John's mind as he walked out of St. Brat's . With a tired sigh he thought about going around the alleys when a voice called from behind.

"Do you have some change?"

John turned to find an elderly man, haggard, wrinkled, thin and tired wearing clothes which seemed to be centuries old peering at him. He had long untidy hair and beard.

"Sure." John said fumbling for changes in his pockets and coming up with some. As he went near the man to hand them the man extended a small dirty hand and tilted his head as if bowing.

"He will be at the tunnel tonight." He whispered as the coins fell from John's fingers.

Before John could say anything or even look at the man properly he had taken an about turn and started walking away.

Sherlock had sent a messenger.

_Finally._


	11. Found

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The tunnel was a long forgotten subway with a notorious reputation for housing various criminal activities. The moment John herd of the destination was the moment he knew what he was going to walk into and what may be in store for him, from Sherlock.

His heart felt heavy not because of fear, because of the realisation that maybe Sherlock was after all some kind of an antisocial. But now was too late for that thought. The priority was to meet Sherlock. To ask him what exactly was that they had and why did he react the way he did the last time they met.

But mostly it had become necessary for John to see that the man was alright. Maybe not in his best of health but still alright. It had become as important as breathing. His identity, his homelessness, this emotional mess could be dealt with later, if fate allowed it.

John set about his destination after dinner which he had barely managed to force down his mouth. He had taken his gun with himself knowing full well that if he really was walking into a trap then it would be of no use whatsoever.

The streets were cold and dark, there was no moon and there was that well known mist that indicated every fateful meeting with Sherlock. John took it as a sign. He was going to see Sherlock today, the mist had whispered to him.

The tunnel was a different world right under the bustling, bright, lawful London. It was dark, hushed, and a sanctuary for everything illegal. John saw young boys slumped together in heaps drugged, he saw kids selling drugs, he saw two strong men holding a pale faced gentleman by the collar. John looked at everybody and everybody in turn looked at John. They were intrigued and annoyed at the same time a bit amused to see a man like him just walking in and walking about a place which others like him would for the love of dear life run out from. It was just a matter of moments before he was attacked. The only light in this underground sanctuary was the fire burning here and there for warming bodies closely huddled together. There were hurried footsteps and close breaths but nothing could be seen clearly except for occasional shadows and silhouettes. John was in a scary house, only this time the horrors were real. As real as life itself.

John walked with conviction, like he knew the place like the back of his hand, keeping his nervousness in firm check. He knew that Sherlock must be a recognized name here, if he could send a messenger asking him here then surely it was so. He just had to keep going until someone stopped him. He would then have to ask for him.

It didn't take any longer. Suddenly out of nowhere a firm lean hand had twisted itself around his neck making him halt immediately. A silver gleam at his throat menacingly told him not to try anything stupid.

"What do you want?" A gruff but young voice asked from behind.

"Sherlock." John said with some effort, the hand was tight around his neck but the owner didn't reply.

The reply came from the darkness before him as he saw a long dark silhouette in a long coat standing there. Nothing else was visible but his voice and appearance was proof enough.

"Billy." The voice commanded and the hand around John's neck instantly loosened. He was released.

"What do you want?" asked the voice.

John swallowed before speaking. He couldn't see him yet he knew he was alright.

"I wanted to see you." He said tentatively.

"I thought I clearly told you that I didn't."

Oh! How could John forget? That is exactly why he was here. He wanted to know why. He had risked his life to come here and god only knew if he would be able to go back alive so he wasn't going anywhere without some answers. He needed to be bold. So he was.

"But I wanted to." He said with determination.

Silence for a few minutes.

"Do you know where you are Dr Watson?" The voice asked in an amused voice.

_No, that is not going to intimidate me Sherlock. If it did then I wouldn't be here. You know that very well._

"Call me John. And I know perfectly well where I am." John said plainly.

Stunned silence this time. Now it was John's turn to feel amused.

"Why were you looking for me?" The voice was cold.

_Now that's gotten a bit difficult._

"Can you please show yourself?"

"No." said the voice gruffly.

John let out an exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes. _Always with the mystery!_

"I haven't got all night." The voice hissed.

"I wanted to tell you that you were right."

John felt the figure in the dark folding his arms over his chest.

"I was lying." John said and licked his lips. "I was lying to everybody and to myself."

Silence.

"You were also right about the things you said that others told me about you."

Silence.

"I don't want to lie to anyone anymore."

Silence.

"I broke up with my girlfriend." _Pathetic John really!_

_Oh please say something!_

"So?" the voice asked incredulously.

No matter how much John thought but he was not at all ready for this reaction. What was this? a rejection? Clear nonacceptance of his earlier acts? A trick? Or sheer change of mind? Whatever it was John's life depended on it.

John tried to steady himself for further questions with some effort, who knew when he would see this man again, if at all, he couldn't lose this opportunity.

"Sherlock, why did you react the way you did the last time we met." John asked, voice steady.

"I made it clear that day that I didn't want to see you anymore and meant just that Dr Watson. You should have listened to those who told you to stay away. I'm a very dangerous man Dr Watson and it's sheer misfortune that you have crossed my path. Just because you had helped me once I'm letting you go unharmed this once and this once only. If you continue to pursue me any further I can't promise to be this generous again."

With that he turned to leave.

John tried one last time. It was needy, it was undignified, it was extremely unlikely of him but he had gone this deep with no chances of resurfacing, he might as well go deeper.

"Sherlock." The man stopped in his tracks but didn't turn.

"What you said that day at the restaurant about me was true."

"What you thought about me in that alley, the next night was true." The baritone spoke and with these final words left John in the darkness.

"C'mon sir, lemme take ya out." Said billy to a stunned John and grabbing him by the arm led him out of the tunnel unceremoniously.


	12. Rain

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_So this is how it feels to be vacant._

John thought walking back from work one night. It had been a week since the incident at the tunnel and there had been no more communication from Sherlock. There wasn't supposed to be any. John told him so every time something or someone reminded him of Sherlock, which was almost every time.

John's sofa reminded of Sherlock.

Two couple's having coffee on the next table reminded of Sherlock.

Darkness reminded of Sherlock.

Any homeless man on the street reminded of Sherlock.

Food reminded of Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson reminded of Sherlock.

Alleys reminded of Sherlock.

Dreams reminded of Sherlock.

Mist reminded of Sherlock.

John was constantly bumping into something or another in his waking life and in dreams that reminded of Sherlock. That man seemed to have taken a permanent residence in John's subconscious.

_At least he has a home now, virtually. _John thought with a sad smile.

Everyday seemed to be identical to the one that passed. John went through them mechanically. Nothing touched him. Nothing bothered him. He was numb and he was starting to get used to it.

Okay, so he had fallen for a bad guy. Okay, his feelings were played with. Okay he had helped a person out of compassion and was treated like trash. Okay, he was broken. Everything was okay as long as he was numb. Because he knew that under this numbness he was actually coping up with a cold fury that threatened to rip his life apart if he didn't control it. Nothing could be done now. Letting his anger out would cause further damage to his life and those who were around him, fighting Sherlock would be like fighting against his own shadow. Sherlock knew how to vanish, he didn't exist for many people and he could ebb like the mist. There was simply no use.

John was returning from his evening stroll which he took every now and then after dinner when the rain started. Blissfully numb John didn't try to hide or run back home. His home still a few blocks away. Friendly pitter-patter suddenly turned into pouring ice cold and shot needles of cold into his body. Head ducked, hands under arms John picked up his pace a bit now. Though the physical sensations of being pierced with icy needles were a welcome change from the piercing pain in his heart, he didn't want to aggravate his misery by catching cold or worse contract pneumonia. He was a doctor after all.

After a deafening thunder and blinding lightning John saw three dark figures huddling in a nearby backstreet. There were two huge men and one lanky, tall, wearing…

John ran towards them without a second thought as soon as he could make out the appearance of the one attacked.

He was right in time.

One of the huge men had a rope around Sherlock's neck and was pulling him by it while the other one was kicking him viciously. Sherlock was trying desperately to yank the bond from his neck but couldn't concentrate on it for the constant kicking. A man like Sherlock should not be requiring so much effort from two men double his size. But then…

As the man who was kicking tried to head in Sherlock's stomach he almost jumped up his lower body in the air and kicked the head both his leg. The action took a fraction of a second but the effect made the man stagger back and crash on the opposite wall. Doing something like that while your throat is still in a death knot requires not only strength but also technique.

Seeing his mate fall the other man tightened his grip on Sherlock's throat only to be interrupted by John who suddenly slammed into him with full force. Being preoccupied with Sherlock the man didn't notice John stealthily coming until he hit him full force. The shock and force made the man stumble and fall heavily on his side drawing a cry from him. Sherlock had noticed John but there was no time to waste as the one who was kicking Sherlock had recovered and now attacked Sherlock in full force. Sherlock was rubbing his neck wheezing lightly while he had stood up to face John when the man jumped at him. But it seemed that while looking at John Sherlock had two other pair of eyes fixed on the activities of his attackers as he just in time turned and punched the man in his stomach with full force. As the man staggered Sherlock gave another blow to his jaw probably breaking it. As a final touch he yanked the man's foot from under and twisted it in a way that it made a snapping sound and the man howled in pain. The companion whom John had shoved was up on his feet by then but he made a wiser choice watching his mate's fate and ran. Sherlock stood looking at John intently, panting.

John was too dazed to move for a few moments. It was not every day that he got himself into such an action sequence. He knew his thought was morbid but he couldn't help thinking that it was rather an amazing experience.

And then. There was Sherlock.

The thought reminded John of certain unpleasant things, most importantly that he shouldn't be there. He turned and started to walk away.

Only to be grabbed by shoulders and pinned to the damp wall by two strong hands. It was still pouring and he was soaked. It was so cold that he felt his blood had gone cold. He felt his teeth slightly chattering.

He looked up to the man holding him to face an icy glare. Rage emanated from every feature of the man in front of him. The man he had just now practically saved from being strangled.

"Why do you keep doing this?" the man asked, his voice still husky but there was no mistaking his fury.

_God damn him! I just saved his bloody life! He has not one bone of gratitude in him._

John wriggled to free himself but found it impossible. He tried to push the man away but instead he came closer.

"Let me go." He said through gritted teeth.

The hold only got stronger and he winced in pain.

"Why do you keep saving me?" The man hissed.

John felt his breath on his face. He was so cold, yet he felt warmth uncurling at the base of his spine.

Seeing there was no way out he sighed resignedly and said.

"Because I have to."

The grip loosened a fraction but not enough.

"Why?" A whisper.

_Because you god damn played with me and I took it for real, because I can never not even now stand and watch you get what you really deserve, because I __care._

John tried to push away his hands again. This time with much more force. He wanted to bruise the man too. The man noticed the rage emanating from John.

He came closer.

And closer still.

John jerked his head to the side as soon as he understood his intention.

"Let me go." He said firmly.

"Tell me why."

"I'll scream."

"By all means."

"I'll tell the police."

"You could visit me more often then. In the custody."

"I don't want anything to do with you anymore. You deserve none of this. You were right, it was sheer misfortune that I crossed your path. You're the filthiest human being I've ever come into contact with. I should and would rather let you die the next time you're in danger."

John could hardly comprehend what was coming out of his mouth. All he knew that the rage which he was so cautiously hiding under his numbness was coming out in full force, on the man who was the cause of it.

The grip loosened further. The hands retreated. The glare became soft, affected, melancholy. The lips quirked up in a rueful smile.

"You're not just kind but a brave man Dr Watson. Your realization is correct. Hold onto it. It will keep you safe from me."

The long dark form retreated with a last look of longing and despair.

John stood in the rain shivering watching him disappear.

Yet again.


	13. Guns and Roses-1

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_Why does he do this to me?_

Thought John standing in his kitchen. He was supposed to make tea, have breakfast and go to work. Instead he stood there hands fumbling in the wrong cupboard, brooding.

He didn't expect Sherlock so say something like that. Of course! Who would? After what he had said to the man.

Wait a minute, didn't the man last time verbally lash him without any reason at all? So why was he feeling bad when he actually said something to the man in return? He deserved that! That git! That ungrateful, son of a bitch! He deserved right that.

But then it would have been so easy to feel like this if it wasn't for his last words.

_Was it his way of saying thank you?_

John snorted at his own thought. That man is too much of an arse to thank anyone for anything. The way he behaved just after John had saved his life, again.

_The way he behaved._

Is what drove John mad. The man lashes out when he tries to help him, he flatters when John demeans him.

And the kiss…the almost…that oh so there feeling…lingering, in John's heart, mind, soul, body. He placed a finger on his quivering lips unknowingly.

_How would it have felt? Those full, cold, wet lips on mine? Would he have been rough? Tender? Would it stop just on the outside or would his tongue…_

The doorbell chose to ring at that particular moment breaking John's reverie.

_Impeccable timing._

John thought letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He went down stairs lazily. There was no one when he peeped through the eyehole.

He opened the door and found no one, he looked left and right and a bunch of fresh long stem dark red roses wrapped in a sheer foil greeted his eyes lying on the steps. John picked them up and found a simple white card with only two words on it, 'Thank You.'. John looked around to find someone again but to no avail.

John climbed back the stairs and closed the door of his flat. He gave the flowers a withering look. He put them on the table and sat on the sofa opposite it.

What was he to make of this? The man said he wanted to be away from John and asked John to hold onto those thoughts which would keep him away.

_But then he had complimented you._

_He tried to kiss you._

John pulled his hair in frustration. The more he looked at the flowers the more he wanted to throw them away.

_This must be some bloody game. _He told himself. _Now he just wants to play some more._

John vividly remembered the rejection, the scathing words that flew from the mouth that tried to kiss him last night only a week ago.

No, this had to end and this had to end for good.

A small voice at the back of his mind kept saying that what he was doing was insane but the voice was so small and the passions that surged through him were so engulfing that he refused to pay heed to it. With his gun hidden under his jumper and the flowers in his arms the doctor set out to meet the person who had scattered his life one last time.

The tunnel even in broad day light was not any less intimidating. Shadows lurked around here and there, people watching him suspiciously, dark figures prowling as if a rabbit had invaded a lion's den.

John was only half way in when a familiar young voice called from behind.

"Doctor Watson Sir!"

_Billy._

John turned around. Only the other day this twenty something man was holding a knife to his throat and today in broad daylight, looking for Sherlock in the tunnel of hell John found his voice comforting, familiar, he knew where Sherlock was.

The look of disbelief on Billy's face told John that this was the last thing on earth that he had expected from him. A respectable man like him once threatened out of here was again here at daytime.

As the young man with blue clear eyes and unkempt auburn hair came closer John spoke in a determined voice.

"Give these to Sherlock and tell him to get lost. This time for good."

He thrust the flowers in a stunned Billy's hands and strode out only to be followed swiftly.

"Dr Watson sir! Dr Watson sir!"

John halted in his stride but didn't turn. Billy stopped by his side and making an apologetic face asked John.

"He's running a fever doctor. Could you be kind enough to see him once?"

Now it was John's turn to be stunned. Was he kidding?

"Didn't he tell me in front of you that he didn't want to see me anymore? "

Billy bowed his head as if in shame.

John started to walk again.

"I don't know any of your likes doctor. He won't go to hospital. He suffers." Billy said in a small voice.

_Tell him to go to hell._

_Let him suffer._

_Let him die._

"Where is he?"

_God damn it._


	14. Guns and Roses-2

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If anybody ever told him that a place like this existed, that it existed in London itself, that a person could live in a place like this John Watson wouldn't have believed it and without a second thought would have forgotten it.

But now standing among a cluster of abandoned houses and before an abandoned house with an almost fallen roof, no windows and a door unattached to the frame John not only had to believe that it was possible, he also had to believe that a man, that Sherlock lived here.

John swallowed the lump in his throat as he was let in by Billy who put the detached door to one side and then put it back in place. They were standing in a space which was a ruined living room. Dust, cobweb, darkness, broken pieces of wood, glass and some battered furniture were scattered around.

"This way sir." Said Billy quietly gesturing towards the doorway on the left. This led to another wrecked room.

There was a table by the door with papers, pens, half eaten food and books. There were two chairs here and there. In the middle of the room was a camp bed.

On it was a lean body on his side with his back to them. He was covered only by a wool blanket. His cloths were hanging on the opposite wall, some of it still wet.

"Couldn't keep your promise for one day. Could you doctor Watson? "

John tried very hard to steady himself. But he couldn't help the pain which suddenly surged through his heart, seeing this man in this surrounding. John felt miserable.

"Did you like the flowers?"

"Should have bought medicine instead." John said swallowing hard.

The figure turned towards them. Billy swiftly put a chair next to the bed, gesturing John to sit.

Sherlock gave John a worn look, he smirked, but feebly. The haughtiness was subdued by the sickness. But it was still there.

"I see you have brought it yourself."

John didn't get the meaning at first.

"One bullet can cure all the sickness in this world." Sherlock drawled.

John looked away. _If only I could._

Sherlock gave that all knowing smile that John hated so much. It was getting awkward and John wanted to get away from it all as soon as possible. He went and sat down on the offered chair. As if on cue Sherlock stretched out a hand from under the blanket and laid it on John's thigh.

Before his heart could react to the touch John went in doctor mode. He took the hand in order to take the pulse. The fever was high, the man was burning. He shivered at John's touch. John saw Sherlock's upper body was naked.

All the while Sherlock kept looking at John. Studying him. There was no look of surprise, John never had the element of surprise, at least not for this man.

He touched Sherlock's forehead.

"Since when…"

"Last night." Sherlock replied.

"Did he eat anything?"

"He doesn't eat much." Billy answered, he was leaning on the door frame watching them silently.

"Is there a breathing…"

"Yes." Said Sherlock succinctly.

"Does your chest pain?"

Sherlock gave a warm smile but didn't reply.

John looked at him with furrowed brows. He extended his hand and with some hesitation put his palm flatly on Sherlock's feverish, naked chest.

"Does it pain?" He asked again sternly, applying some pressure.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and opened again.

"Not anymore."

John tensed and withdrew his hand abruptly and fixed his glare on Billy.

"This could be early stages of pneumonia. He needs to be in a hospital." Billy stared at him blankly.

"This is serious."

No response.

John turned to look at Sherlock who was looking at him with such a fondness that John lost his argument for some moments.

"Can't you just bring in some meds Doctor?" Billy asked tentatively.

_How do I make them see reason? _

"Sherlock, you're a grown man enough to understand the gravity of the situation." John said determinedly.

"I'm sorry." Breathed Sherlock.

"What?" John asked completely taken aback by the sudden apology.

"Can't leave me like this can you?"

John didn't answer. There's that game again, right there. Trying to read John, his intentions, toying with his weaknesses. He hated it.

"What have I done to you." Sighed Sherlock.

John shot Sherlock a death glare.

_What have you done to me? you? A bloody nobody lying on the bed sick, asking for my help, so fucking screwed up that you can't even go to a hospital and you have done something to me? you feel sorry about me? you are the one who is pathetically lying in front of me!_

"Leave us Billy." Sherlock commanded and the man obliged.

John tore his eyes from the misty blue ones.

_What does he want now?_

Sherlock shifted his head on the worn out pillow so he could see John better. He looked at him for a long moment. Then with a sigh and a sad smile he began.

"You're a grown up man too John."

John didn't look at him.

"Don't you see the gravity of the matter?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

John looked at him to start to say something but the look on Sherlock's face stopped him. He was talking about a completely different matter. Their matter.

_Oh._

Sherlock's eyes looked bluer today, they bore into John's soul drawing a thin icy line across his heart.

"You see what I am John. You know what I am."

John could only swallow the lump and keep looking on.

"This is all I have, all I can give you." The man added sadly.

"You know there's no way this could work out. It shouldn't. "

_Why?_

"Don't waste yourself John. There are people who need you."

"You?" John asked abruptly. His eyes searching the cool blue ones.

Sherlock answered with his eyes. He blinked and opened, so John could see longing, desire, need and despair.

"Things don't need to be like this." John said in a quiet voice.

"No they don't." Said Sherlock. "But they are." With that Sherlock looked away.

"Then why did you even let me come close?" John asked without hiding his hurt.

Sherlock looked back at him. His eyes reminding John that he was sorry for it. Who was he kidding? Of course this man had done something to John, that's precisely the reason he was sitting here. It's wasn't Sherlock who was pathetic. It was John.

John's forehead throbbed, his eyes pained. He held his breath to push back the tears.

"Would you do me one last favor John?" Sherlock asked and John saw that the man was in no better state than him.

John thought he knew what this request would be. He would insist on never seeing John again.

"If you find me someday" Sherlock paused and swallowed. He looked away before speaking again.

"Lying dead and cold somewhere. Would you please bury me? Somewhere that you could visit me sometimes?" Sherlock's voice was full of longing, it was broken.

One single drop of tear escaped John's stronghold and then there was no stopping the others. They escaped like prisoners freed after a prison break.

_Why is he saying this? Is he going to die? Does he know that? Does he know that he is sick with something else? Oh god it was so much better if Harry's assumptions were right. If he was just trying to get under my roof. I would let him. I would let him all my life, I would do anything to keep him. Keep him from running, from disappearing, from dissolving into the mist again. I wouldn't even ever ask him to take a job. I would take his responsibility for life. Just not this. I can't take this wish. No. _

"Are you…terminally…ill…" John said with some effort.

"No John." The man said kindly.

John looked at him questioningly.

"Please take the flowers with you John." The man said pointing at the flowers on the table.

"Keep them in some water, in a vase, next to your bed. They'll live up to their full life there. They'll scent your room. Be kind to them, don't leave them here."

"Why should I leave you here?"

"What choice do you have?"

"Come with me." John said solemnly.

Sherlock looked at him reverently and smiled.

"You should go John."

"At least let me cure you." John pleaded.

"I'll be fine." Sherlock assured.

The conversation had reached its end point. He was told to go. Yet John sat there. Maybe this was the last time he was seeing this man. How could he just leave?

"Don't increase your entanglement with me John. It will only cause you further harm. Leave." Sherlock's voice was stern. His eyes were still longing.

John knew he couldn't go close to the man anymore, he had closed himself again. He wanted to hold onto this moment. He wanted to stay. He wanted to cure the man. He wanted a last kiss. He wanted Sherlock. But Sherlock's demeanour said none of this was possible.

John slowly rose. With one last glance at Sherlock he trudged out feeling his soul was left behind in that abandoned house, with that man, abandoned itself by John.

Sherlock kept looking at the retreating figure and then at the flowers he left behind. He heaved a heavy sigh.


	15. Knock

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One full year passed without a glimpse of Sherlock again. The man had vanished for good. John knew, he knew the moment he walked out of that broken door that this was it. Yet it didn't stop him from going over and over to that broken house again. As if his soul was trapped there. It was. It was missing with Sherlock. It was last seen in that wreckage beside the sick man. John had body, John had bones, John had a vital organ called heart which still pumped life fluid into him but he didn't have the soul. Sometimes at night John would wonder what exactly heart was or where exactly a man hurt when he was in pain. The organ seemed to work fine, too fine for John's comfort. But there was this insistent pain. As if he had accidentally swallowed a stone and it stuck somewhere between his throat and chest.

Most of the time John was lost in his thoughts, it would take calling his name more than once to get his attention. He spoke very little and spent most of his time alone. He was still nice to people but just not companionable anymore. Only those who were closest to him remained in his life. He was thankful for that. He didn't need many people. Many people, much talk, much reminders of Sherlock.

He wasn't happy but he was okay.

He wasn't living but he was coping.

Mary came to visit many times. She tried to console him, comfort him, she tried to rekindle their relationship. To no avail. The John she knew, the John they knew was gone. Some man had come from the mist and had dragged him with him into it.

Most of the time John's vision was clouded. He was looking but not seeing. living but not feeling. He was sleep walking through life.

Most of the time he would forget something. He would forget that he had already made tea and went to make another cup. He would forget that he was supposed to have dinner with Harry and Clara and stood them up. He would end up at the hospital on off days. He wouldn't call back anyone and would hardly go out with someone.

Harry insisted that he see a psychiatrist. He stubbornly declined.

Sometimes he couldn't believe that a full year had passed since he last saw Sherlock. The memory of each and every time they had met was so vivid that it felt like yesterday. Many times John thought he had miscalculated the time but every time he was proven wrong.

The mist didn't have anything to offer him anymore.

The nightmares didn't help the situation either. He would hardly sleep every night and most of the time would wake up in sweat and dread.

He would dream of Sherlock writhing on the ground somewhere, unable to get up and eventually giving up.

He would dream of Sherlock smiling at him lying in a grave.

He would dream of Sherlock lying in a pool of blood waiting for him to come and save him.

He would dream of Sherlock running towards him in a snow covered landscape but just before he could reach there would be an echoing gunshot. Sherlock's eyes widened taking in John for one last time then falling on the snow. Closing those magnificent, all knowing, all seeing colourful eyes forever.

John would run but before he could reach him he would wake shivering and crying.

It was one of those nights when he had such a dream. He had had enough he thought sitting up on his bed. He wanted to escape. London reminded too much of Sherlock. It felt like living in Sherlock. He needed to move out. He knew others would agree. At least it was a better option than killing himself. He couldn't spend his life being this miserable. New city, new people, new surroundings, his heart and mind would get busy in storing new information so much that it would dig up memories much less. Maybe, just maybe his pain would ease. Even though just a little bit.

John trudged down stairs and put the kettle on, it was 2:45 in the morning. He felt horrible. It would have been so much better if he had just known that Sherlock was dead. At least he could sleep. Knowing full well that all his nightmares were true, there was nothing he could do to prevent them now. He couldn't live with not knowing anymore.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind he heard a fumbling knock on the front door.

_Who could be at this time of the night?_

With a moment of hesitation John put the kettle off and stealthily went down the stair. The thought of taking his gun had crossed his mind but then he shrugged it off thinking that this was his life and not some suspense novel. It was too dark to see. It had snowed, the snow glistened like a white silk duvet in the dark cold night. John tugged his woolly dressing gown closer to fight the cold.

"Who is it?" he asked warily.

He heard a moan, somehow it sounded like his name.

He cracked the door cautiously, the cold wind slapped him on the face. He shivered and looked down to find a dark figure on his knees on the stairs. He had his arms around him and was swaying.

By the light above the door he saw two very familiar grey-blue, piercing eyes look up to him slowly.

"Help me John." The man croaked.


	16. Wound

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Sherlock lay asleep on John's bed, which was now half drenched in the man's blood. John could see the wounded man's chest heave in the dim light from the windows through the half drawn curtains. It had taken two hours of inhuman struggle to get the man steady, sleeping, out of danger.

John stood leaning on the door frame of his bed room watching his patient. He had a bullet wound on his side. Thank fully Sherlock had taken effective measures so the blood loss wasn't threatening. Yet it was enough to make the man weak and dizzy for a few days. But he was not going to die. At least not here. Not now. Not around John. Not on his door step.

John heaved a melancholy sigh.

This is exactly the reason Sherlock had come to him. John hated himself for this. Being Sherlock's _private doctor_, his useful little man waiting for him to come and pat when he could and leave as soon as he got what he wanted.

John wouldn't fool himself this time. He knew Sherlock's intentions only too well. As soon as he's able to walk he'll leave again until next time when he needs his pet doctor.

John's eyes burned at the sleeping man. He would shake him up and throw him out the door in the snow if he could. But he couldn't. What irony life had become since he met this fiend. What living hell.

John slumped on the ground exhausted. He wouldn't leave. Just in case the man wakes up, just in case he tries to escape in this condition just to avoid any confrontation with John. No, he wouldn't let him leave just like that. He was at his mercy this time. He would use it, even if he turns out defeated he would try.

Before John knew he had dozed off. For the first time in a year he slept profoundly without any nightmares.

Sherlock was home.

A faint noise made him stir after a while. He was sleeping so deeply that he had forgotten the recent incidents. Opening his eyes blearily he found himself sitting at his bedroom door with his back to the door frame, which was hurting now that he had sense and a mildly writhing figure on his bed.

_Sherlock! _

John woke up with a start and went to him. He wished to god that he didn't have fever. That would mean infection, that would lead to further difficulties.

Placing his palm on the lying man's forehead John let out a relaxed breath. The temperature was normal. The pain must have begun to resurface causing the man unease.

"John…John…"

John stopped breathing. The man was moaning his name. He was still not fully conscious to call him but he knew he needed him. Maybe he was just faking it.

Being a doctor John knew full well that it was not possible. The man was truly uttering his name subconsciously.

_He remembers me._

_Of course he does that's why he is here._

_Again to use me._

_God knows from where he has come, how long he has travelled to come here. _

_Don't be ridiculous. He's here for a cause not for you._

_Yet he is here. _

John tried to push his emotions away as he went to the kitchen to wet a towel in warm water. He came back and sat by Sherlock's side on the bed. The man had a frown on his face. He was swaying his head as if in a dream.

John softly pressed the towel to his forehead. The man's eyes flew open and he grabbed John's wrist fiercely, startling John. His eyes were vicious.

It took only a moment before John realized that Sherlock had forgotten where he was and thought of John as an enemy. Observing John he relaxed again and let go of his wrist. John continued to press the towel on his cheeks, neck, bare chest.

"John." The man moaned again.

"Does it pain?" John asked halting his ministrations.

"Yes…" breathed the man beneath.

John took the medicines and water from the side table. He would have to feed the man soon. He was taking pain killers on empty stomach. After helping Sherlock gulp down the medicines John went to the kitchen to make soup.

He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe this situation. Something inside him told him precisely not to. This could all be a dream. This could all be the result of his sleepless nights. This could just be another health hazard.

But that blood that drenched his bed was true.

The wound that he stitched and bandaged last night was true.

The heartbeat that he felt wiping that chest was true.

His name coming out as a moan from that mouth was true.

He longed so much for Sherlock and now he was here.

It was true. It was all so true.

He took the warm bowl to Sherlock who was still faintly aware and propped him up a bit with pillows. The bowl was soon emptied.

Now he could go back to sleep again. He needed rest. He needed caring. He needed John. And as if to confirm this he held John's hand feebly when he tried to get up. John put the bowl on the floor and sat back down. Those grey-blue eyes pleading, wanting, needing his presence was all the persuasion he wanted. He didn't remove his hand and sat watching as the pain killers took effect and the heavy lidded eyes fluttered close after some vain efforts of keeping them open.

John smiled sadly.

_What was Sherlock thinking? John would vanish when he wakes up?_


	17. Not here not now

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John opened his eyes again when the room was filled with sunlight. It was midday. John was crouched beside the laying figure on bed. He felt cold and tried to tug his robe closer but felt restrained.

Sherlock was still holding his hand.

"Good morning." The voice was back, even if a bit feeble.

John looked at him, didn't respond and slowly tried to remove his hand. The grip tightened.

"How are you John?"

_Just the way you left me. Much much worse._

He tried again.

"I'm too weak to hold on to you." The baritone breathed.

One sentence. So much meaning. So much depth. If John didn't know this man he would have thought he was only speaking about the physical aspect. But he knew where this man's words ran. Deep through the veins of the heart.

"Let me go." John said tried to steady his heart.

"I always do."

"But you always come back."

The man let go of his hand with a pained expression. His lips were chapped and there was a darkness over his face.

It made John almost reach out to him and apologize. It was these random visits that had kept him alive he knew that so well, how could he deny? How could he pretend that he didn't want him to come back?

But John steeled himself. He got off the bed with some effort and taking the bowl from the floor made to leave.

"You could've just let me die." The man said from the bed, in a broken voice.

John snorted.

_Don't do this Sherlock. We've been over this._

"You knew very well that was not going to happen." He said with some bitterness.

The man didn't look at him.

"That is exactly why you are here." John said sternly and took another step only to halt again.

"No."

John turned to look at the man whose eyes were fixed on the curtains of the window beside bed.

"I came so you could keep your promise." Sherlock said quietly. "The last favor I asked of you."

"_Would you please bury me? Somewhere that you could visit me sometimes?"_

The memory flashed making John lose his control over his body. The bowl fell from his hand and his legs gave away. He had to lean on the door frame to keep himself standing.

"I didn't think I stood a chance John." The man said licking his dried lips. "I walked for so long, in darkness and cold. To reach you."

John's mouth was agape. He was hyperventilating.

"I wanted to give myself up to you, or whatever was left of me. I won't deny that there was a faint hope that you'll save me. But even if I didn't make it you would be the only one who would have the rights of my body."

Doom loomed over their relationship. Always, every step of the way. Why? Why did it have to be so? Why did they always meet on the verge of losing each other? Why was Sherlock always on the verge of perishing? Why always in front of him the man lay in pain?

John resumed his seat beside Sherlock shakily. He put his hands on the sides of the man's face and met his eyes.

"No." He said shaking his head. "I'm not going to let that happen Sherlock. Not when I'm still alive, not when I'm still capable. I'll never do that favour to you because there would not be any need. I won't let you die Sherlock. Not here. Not like this. Not on my door step, not in front of me."

John spoke with conviction. The man smiled at him and pressed his hand to John's.

They sat there looking into each-others' eyes. Silence spoke lengths.


	18. Touch

**Thank you everybody! tell me if you want more!**

* * *

They neither had time nor need for intricacies. John touched and handled him like he had known him for a long time and there was not one single moment of awkwardness or embarrassment on either side. They both were two waves of sands trying to quench their thirsts.

Sherlock had requested John to sleep by his side as he knew that John wouldn't leave him alone and it hurt him to see John crouching somewhere in his own house and waking up in pain. John had thought for a blink of an eye and agreed. He wouldn't be anywhere else. He would stroke Sherlock's hair when he when he woke up in the night, he washes him when he sweated, his proximity provided Sherlock warmth and he slept with a hand pressed on Sherlock's heart reassuring himself that the man was alive and beating.

There was neither time nor need for delicacy or modesty. Sherlock was John's patient. He was a doctor. John changed the sheets, his bandages, his clothes, cleaned him all with the care and precision of a doctor. On the other hand Sherlock gave himself up to John with blind trust.

On the fourth day though the scenario changed.

John was giving Sherlock a sponge bath as he was still too weak to stand and take a shower. John was completely immersed in his ministrations when Sherlock spoke.

"Look at me John."

John was wiping his shoulders. He looked up curiously halting his ministrations and waited.

"No, just look at me."

John furrowed his brows.

Sherlock took John's free hand and placed it on his warm bare chest.

"Feel me." he whispered.

John's demeanor changed instantly. The touch which was clinical till then became sensitive and sent waves of pleasure through him. He was awed by his transition just by one whispered command from the man.

How could he not see it for so long? How could he be so engrossed in only tending to it without touching it warmly? With affection?

This ivory colored silk so magnificently spread in front of him. How could he not immerse himself in it? But then again it could pain the man. But when again he would get a chance like this god only knew. For he was oh so sure that these days of proximity would be again threaded with another long period of wait and longing. These pearls of proximity held together by that delicate thread which was their life when separated. Anyone could perish and the thread would snap scattering the pearls forever.

But what about now? That he was there? In front of him, asking, demanding, commanding. John sitting so close, hoping, fearing, indulging.

Sherlock read the dilemma in John's eyes and put a hand over his on his chest firmly, assuring. Then in one swift motion he was sitting face to face with John.

He took John's startled face in his hands and sunk his lips in his.

It must have hurt. Though the man didn't flinch or gasp yet John knew that it must have hurt. But he couldn't deny the profound feeling. He couldn't pull back from what seemed like a process of both claiming and being claimed. John had never tasted drugs in his life but he was sure nothing like that would come close to this heady nauseating feeling. Sherlock's breath filled his lungs, Sherlock's taste filled his mouth, Sherlock's love filled whatever there was inside that people called soul. Whatever it was that kept living after the mortal being perished now completely and utterly belonged to this man. This man, bloodied and wounded and elusive.

This man John loved.

"_John…_" The man gasped breaking the contact.

John pressed his forehead to Sherlock's and placing a hand on the wounded man's chest pressed him down on the mattress. They kept breathing into each other's faces, eyes closed. Sherlock was panting lightly with the exertion.

"Can you promise me you won't leave again?" whispered John, looking into the man's eyes with glistening eyes.

Sherlock swallowed and kissed John's forehead but didn't reply.

The question hung heavy in the air.


	19. Promise

**Thank you all for your sheer awesomeness! please keep me writing!**

* * *

Sherlock looked at his bowl of porridge and grimaced.

He looked up at John sheepishly who was looking at him with stern expression arms crossed over his chest and gulped.

"When can I eat something nice?" he asked petulantly.

John smiled.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked indulgently.

Sherlock looked up hopefully but suspiciously.

"Something Italian?" he said cautiously.

"If you eat this up properly I'll make you something nice at dinner." John promised.

Sherlock pouted and pocked his porridge.

It had been eight days and Sherlock was recovering fast under the persistent care of John. Mrs Hudson was gone for a week to visit some relative and when she found Sherlock upon returning she was shocked. Yet she didn't probe and instead was very helpful. She had seen John's condition throughout the last year and knew the reason very well. She would do this much for her favourite tenant.

On the other hand John had taken too much time off from work and was getting worried about it. He had to join soon but the thought of leaving Sherlock alone was extremely unwelcome. He knew for sure that the day he would step out he would come back to an empty flat. The thought was eating him. He didn't know what to do. He knew Sherlock noticed, he knew Sherlock understood. Yet the man didn't say anything to refute John's doubts and this further fueled John's suspicions.

"No Italian then." John sighed looking at Sherlock's pout, trying not to give away.

Sherlock looked at him from under the lashes and shoved a spoonful in his mouth. He groaned and swallowed.

John smiled and went to him. He took some medicines out of the drawer of the bedside table and placed them on it beside the glass of water. Sherlock had taken a few more spoonfuls by then and looked at John expectantly.

John laughed and ruffled Sherlock's hair and bent to kiss his forehead. Sherlock's petulance quickly gave away to an eagerness for more kisses. John gave him a scolding look which effectively brought back the pout.

He needed to get to work. He'll make something special for the wounded boy tonight.

* * *

But the moment he stepped out of the room the unresolved problem started probing his mind again. He had to talk to Sherlock and he would have to answer, silence was no longer an option. He won't get away this time. John decided to cook something delicious to make the man open his mouth. Not only for food.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table looking hopeful that evening. John couldn't help but laugh at his childlike expression. A lovable, greedy, hungry Sherlock. John melted for a moment then steadied himself. They need to talk.

Sherlock was engrossed in the bruschetta chicken wraps and made several pleasurable noises indicating John's success. John's clothes hung on the lean figure loosely, too short at places. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, he was as easy and graceful as he was in his own clothes. But John wanted him to be comfortable, Sherlock needed things and to get them he needed to go out.

John gave the man a moment to indulge in the Panna cotta with berry sauce, then spoke.

"Sherlock, you need some clothes."

"Hmmm." He didn't look up.

"Some other stuffs too."

"Ummhmm."

"And I need to join work." John flinched anticipating.

"I know."

John looked up to find the man smiling at him. He licked of the last traces of dessert from his lips. John forgot what he was anticipating.

_An answer… to what? Oh yes going out. Oh this man!_

Sherlock chuckled. John blushed.

"Since you're the sole bread earner in our household, I can't keep you from work much longer, can I?"

_Our household. _

It felt like Sherlock had embraced him from across the table. John felt warm. Sherlock had wrapped him in his blanket of warm words.

Sherlock looked at John deeply and reached out to rest his hand on his firmly.

"I'll be here when you come back."


	20. Shopping

**Thank you soooooo much everyone! very sorry for the length of the chapters but if I try to deliberately write longer ones it may mar the spontaneity! **

* * *

John didn't know what to think.

He could take what Sherlock said for granted or he could take it as inevitable that he would be coming back to an empty flat.

The second thought made his stomach turn.

John couldn't stop fretting and fidgeting all day at work.

"Why do you keep forgetting things John?" Asked Sherlock hugging him from behind as he made tea that morning, already tensed.

Sherlock rubbed his chest soothingly and pressed his lips to John's nape making him relax a bit.

"What did I forget?" John had asked in a small voice.

"That I have promised you I'll be here when you come back."

He turned around and took Sherlock in his arms and looked into those misty grey eyes imploringly.

"You will keep your promise?"

Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's, smiling lovingly.

"I promise." He whispered.

After several long kisses and many hugs John had stepped out of the flat forlornly. He kept looking back at the door until he saw Sherlock standing at the window pressing his palms to the glass and pouting. John smiled reassuringly at the child he was leaving behind. The child blew warm breath on the glass making it foggy and wrote with fingers.

_Back soon._

John had great difficulty controlling the urge to run back and hold him in a never ending embrace. His feet felt heavier with each step away from Sherlock, away from home, away from _their household_.

_Please god let him be there when I return._

John wanted to hurry back as soon as work was over but he needed to buy things.

John found shopping for Sherlock was extremely difficult. What do you buy for a man like that? What would he like to wear? John never spared much thought or money on his own clothing but this was Sherlock! He was special.

Anyone else would have thought that any kind of cloths would be enough for a man from the streets who had hardly worn a piece of clothing in years which was neither well-worn nor torn. But John couldn't dream of thinking like that. He had pictured the man in suits since the night they first met! Sherlock was a prince and he needed to dress like one. John paid much attention to buying suitable things for Sherlock. He bought every single piece with much care, he felt every single fabric, made sure they would be comfortable, they would keep Sherlock warm and that all the other things were useful for Sherlock.

All the time a worm kept wriggling in his mind.

_What if he's not there when you return?_

_Mrs Hudson is there. She's keeping an eye on him._

_Do you really think she could help if he decided to escape?_

_He won't. He promised._

When John finally got out of the taxi and paid the driver his heart was doing a kind of gymnastic. It dipped to the stomach once and then returned to its proper place.

John's hands trembled as he tried to put the key in the hole.

Once in he put everything on the landing across the door and ran upstairs. He felt his heart would give away any second now. With immense restraint he turned the knob.

_This is it! He's gone._

"What took you so long?" An extremely petulant baritone called from the sofa accompanying the vision of a very pouty, very bored looking Sherlock curled up on it.

A wave went through John. He felt like he had been swimming in the sea for a very long time and had just resurfaced. He was overwhelmed. He felt he would cry. But he could do nothing except running toward the man and wrap his curled body in his and kiss and kiss and kiss again.

After making sure that the pout was completely gone and retrieving the many bags from down stairs John was greeted with a sheepish grin form the man he loved.

"I made you tea."

For this the man got washed over in kisses again.


	21. Secrets

**Sorry for the late! waiting for your responses!**

* * *

"Why do I feel like you've spent all your money on these." Sherlock said gaping at the things strewn all over John's bed. He was sitting on the bed now with John kneeling on the floor uncovering one thing after another beaming at Sherlock. Sherlock's expression on the other hand alternated between annoyance and astonishment.

_Poker faced __bastard_. Thought John warmly.

"Wrong feeling. I didn't." he said simply unwrapping a navy blue silk shirt feeling contended.

"I feel other things too." Said Sherlock tentatively.

John looked up.

"Loved."

John's smile faded as his heart did an odd thing he didn't know it could do.

"Cared." Silvery blue eyes bore into his soul.

"Cherished."

John had stopped breathing by then.

"Wanted."

He needed to stop Sherlock or he would just drop dead there. He lunged forward and held the man in his arms burying his face in the crook of the speaking man's neck.

"Worried."

John sat up and looked at Sherlock questioningly.

"You are worried." The baritone said gravely.

John's face fell and he looked away.

"Who wouldn't be with a man like you around." He said smiling sadly.

_Yes Sherlock I am worried. I am worried when again you'll do your vanishing act and I wouldn't be able to do anything again._

After a long period of silence John looked up to find Sherlock looking at him with a weary look of extreme inner turmoil.

"I have a job John." Sherlock gasped out suddenly breaking the silence.

John looked up at him listening intently. This was the first time the man was opening up. John focused all his concentration on Sherlock and gripped his hand firmly.

Sherlock looked down at their hands and said quietly.

"I can't tell you what it is."

John's face turned gravely, he thought Sherlock was closing up again. He gave his hand a gentle squeeze to coax.

Sherlock drew a deep breath before speaking.

"My job requires me to kill people John. That's all I can say." He looked at John with a steady expression giving nothing away. But john could see the apprehension so vividly in those glossy, misty, impossible eyes.

Silence fell in the room again.

After a while John spoke softly.

"I don't know what obligations you have to work a job like this, but I sincerely hope that you overcome it someday. Because clearly you are ashamed of it. I can't imagine a person like you enjoying it, I can only imagine how hard it must be to be compelled to do something like this."

Sherlock looked at him dumbstruck.

John gave him an understanding smile.

"John…I just told you…I kill people for a living…" Sherlock said dazed.

"I know. I am not trying to justify your job. But it didn't surprise me after all I have seen of you." John said calmly.

"But you're the first person to actually understand…" Sherlock's words trailed off and for the first time John saw the man break.

John gathered the shivering man in his arms and ran his hand through his curls.

"It's okay…You're not bad…I know…I trust you."

"How can you? How can you trust me after I've told you this?" Sherlock sobbed.

"Sherlock I love you."

"Even now?"

"I loved you since I knew nothing about you."

"But now that you do?"

"I still do."

Sherlock sat up and stared into John's eyes.

"You know what this means."

John knew. John knew that this meant never having a normal life with this man. He knew this meant the man had to go away again sometime. He knew that if this man disappeared for good someday he could do nothing. John knew having a relationship with this man entailed only danger, pain and longing.

John took him in his arms again and buried his face in the curls. He didn't want to think about the worst now. Not now when he had the man in his arms, in his house, on his bed.

"I know." He whispered into the curls.


	22. Probings

**Thank you for the reviews! Hoping for more!**

* * *

The week went on blissfully with John waking up to Sherlock every morning, Sherlock clinging to John until he went out. John looking back at the window as soon as he stepped out to find Sherlock standing there. Evenings were spent in John cooking and Sherlock making it impossible by throwing all sorts of tantrums. Nights were spent in warm embraces and long kisses in anticipation of something more to happen soon.

On the third week the bliss began to fall apart.

"Harry, I'm fine. No I'm better now. No. No news. Yeah just a bit caught up in work. I'll visit you as soon as I can. Okay? Yeah. You too take care. Give Clara my love. "

John put the phone down on his office desk and leant back on the chair with a huff. This was the third enquiry this week. He had bumped into Mike the other day and he had asked him to join him for a drink which he had to decline. The man wanted to come up to his house which he also had to politely decline. Marry had called. And now Harry. They were all concerned about him after his one year depressed stunt. He appreciated and cherished their concern but couldn't let it shatter the temporary bliss he was sharing with the man he loved. Their concern seemed like probing and he wanted to avoid it at all costs. He knew these were the people whom he'll have to fall back on when Sherlock disappears again and yet all he wanted was to keep these people from probing. Cut off all ties as long as Sherlock was there.

He couldn't tell how long it would be until someone actually came up to check on him. What would he do then? Most importantly what would Sherlock do?

John's life was a fair mess. Every time he held Sherlock he used to fear it would be the last and now adding to it was the growing concern of his family and friends.

Sherlock opened the door with his now a day's usual glee in his eyes and a petulant pout. John on the other hand was not his usual self and just smiled tiredly at him.

Putting away the coat John entered the kitchen and put the kettle on. Sherlock followed but maintained a distance watching him closely.

"Harry called." John said succinctly.

"Did you tell her about me?"

"No."

John turned to look at him.

"She's worried about me." He said searching for answers in Sherlock's eyes.

They were cold. Calculating. Devoid of emotions.

"That's what families do." He said curtly.

"Do you have any?" John asked out of the blue and startled himself.

"Someday." The baritone said wistfully looking deeply into John's eyes.

John's heart constricted as he stopped himself from being wishful of something unattainable.

"What if she comes to visit me?" He asked in a small voice looking away.

"Then I'll have to leave."

John gulped. He was afraid of this exactly.

"Would someone visit you?"

"Who would?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Any friend or colleague…Billy?" John asked frowning. Did he actually want any of them in his house? Not exactly but it felt so bad to think Sherlock didn't have anyone. Anyone except him.

"He's dead."

John slightly jumped at the words and a shiver ran down his spine. Sherlock on the other hand maintained a stoic face.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Was he your…?" _what?_

"What do you think he was?" Sherlock asked and a bit of amusement gleamed in his eyes.

"A colleague? Assistant? Sniper? Helped you with…with your…work?"

"I'm not just a killer John." The baritone said deeply measuring John's perplexity.

Another statement that left John clueless.

"My job doesn't only entitle killing people. It is an aspect though. The most haunting aspect."

Sherlock looked away, deep in thoughts.

"What are you?" John whispered.

"I can't tell you. Not now."

John slouched leaning on the kitchen counter resignedly.

"Of course you can't." _because it is only me who can trust you, not vice versa._

Sherlock came closer and put his hands on John's shoulders trying to ease the tension and to reassure him.

"John, just don't blame yourself thinking that you're in love with a mass murderer or some kind of an assassin. And believe me, some of the people I've killed actually deserved it. " Sherlock said with a faint smile.

John didn't know what exactly Sherlock expected him to feel to that information. Relieved? Contended? Somewhat relaxed?

"Good to know." John said incredulously.

Sherlock dropped his hands. The amusement left every corner of his face.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he asked gravely.

John looked at him. Steadied himself.

"No. Not at all."

Sherlock gave him a thankful look.


	23. Splash

**Reviews please!**

* * *

The next few days went without any further probing but the fear lingered in John's mind. Sometimes he used to wonder when was the last time he felt relaxed since he met Sherlock. He couldn't remember. Sherlock was being his usual self or the self he had shown John to be and showed no agitation. John tried to relax when he was around. He wanted to cherish every moment he was lucky enough to spend with the man he loved. But there was always a clock ticking somewhere at the back of his mind.

"When will I be able to touch you?" Sherlock asked from the tub in which he was lying, grabbing hold of John's hand who was trying to walk away from the very tempting sight.

He turned around and saw a face which made it impossible for him to leave the bathroom. He sat down on the edge of the tub with a smile and trailed a finger over Sherlock's jaw.

"Soon."

Sherlock didn't seem happy.

"I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

"Yes you can. Look at you now!" He accused.

John lent down and kissed the man passionately holding his curly wet head in both his hands. But when Sherlock's hands trailed from his chest towards his lower abdomen he pulled away.

"I don't want you to get hurt." He whispered in the aroused man's ear.

"But-but…"

"Shhh." John said ghosting his lip over Sherlock's, making him shiver.

He took one wet hand of the man and placed it over his erected groin. Sherlock inhaled sharply.

"You see? How I feel." John said.

Within a moment John's hand was gripped in a bruising hold and was underwater. John trembled when he felt a raging hot hard on under the warm water and closed his eyes gasping.

It took him a moment to gain composure and find his voice again. He tried to remove his hand but the hand gripping him didn't move, instead another wet hand gripped his nape and lips crushed his lips.  
John couldn't breathe and to his utter amazement he felt he didn't even want to.

After a while the mortal need won and they broke apart to catch their breath. Once lungs were full they looked at each other sheepishly, both flushed, both needy and with a blink of an eye they were giggling.

Both feeling, silly, happy, embarrassed.

After a while John lent forward and hugged the wet man wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face there.

"It can wait." He mumbled comfortably.

"I make you wait for everything." Sherlock said without any hint of remorse.

"I think you quiet enjoy that." John said with a smile in his voice.

"Do you hate me for that?"

"Oh yes! But then it gets drowned in my love for you." John said pulling away and looking at the man.

They both chuckled.

"You're a romantic." Sherlock said playfully pushing John away.

"Thank god for that! Because you are not."

"Oh really? Who sent you flowers?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

"That was flirting." John said. "Or trying to flirt."

"So? Flirting is romantic!" Sherlock demanded.

After a moment of contemplative silence John said.

"I want to take you on a date."

"Too romantic." Came the instant reply.

"Say yes."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope."

Sherlock sighed in mock exasperation.

"Have to live with it then."

They both started giggling again.


	24. Date

**Okay here's a long chapter for you! please review review review!**

* * *

Sherlock was hovering next morning in his cotton pajamas and blue silk robe John had bought for him. It was not anything unusual but he seemed to be trying to get John's attention but hesitating.

They had just finished breakfast and John had cleaned the dishes. Wiping his hands with a kitchen towel John looked at Sherlock intently.

"Out with it."

Sherlock was pacing in the living room. He stopped and looked at John pursing his lips.

"I need some money John." He said looking at him tentatively.

_Why would he need money? Does he want to go out? For what? Would he come back if he did?_

Sherlock read the apprehension in John's eyes.

"John." He said coming close. "I'll be here when you come back." He said emphasizing.

John swallowed and looked away. This was too much to ask of him. His frayed nerves couldn't take anymore. He couldn't leave the house knowing the man would go out with high chances of not returning. He just couldn't.

He heard a sigh from Sherlock and looked up. The man looked dejected.

"I can understand if you can't John. It's asking for too much. I haven't given you any reason to trust me and yet you did. It's fine." He said with a reassuring but melancholy smile and went to the sofa and flopped on it.

No, the man had not given him any reason to trust him that much. He had given many reasons to feel the contrary. He would definitely go out and never return. It was their date night and John would be left there alone thinking of what it would have been like. Broken. Abandoned. Again.

John continued with his daily chores and got ready to go out. Sherlock was still perched on the sofa, sulking. John went to him and put some notes on the table before him. Sherlock looked up in shock and opened his mouth to say something. John put a hand around his neck and pulled him in a half hug bending down on the sofa.

"Don't be late for date." He whispered into the man's ear and kissed his temple.

He left a goofily smiling Sherlock on the sofa with a heavy reluctant heart.

John knew that if Sherlock wanted to escape he would do that anyway, with or without money, with or without John being there. He won't be able to stop it. All he could do was to trust. That's precisely what he did. It didn't make things easy for him but then how could life be easy when you have a tumultuous love life with a Sherlock.

John could only hope against hope. Sherlock had refused a mobile so the only medium of communication with him was through the landline. After spending a giddy two hours John gave a call.

"Hello John."

The baritone answered on the third ring. Other times calls went to voice mail as Sherlock couldn't answer them. But somehow the man knew who could be calling today.

_Always. _John could feel the knowing smile on the other side.

"I was waiting for your call. Giddy?"

"A bit." John breathed.

"Me too."

"Is this your first date?" John asked trying to ease his anxiety.

"With the man I love. Yes."

John held his breath for a moment and tried to hold on to it.

"I'll meet you at six." He said eventually.

"I'll be waiting." The baritone purred.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

_Please be there when I return._ "I love you."

"Don't be late."

The line disconnected. John felt it was his lifeline.

John walked out of the hospital looking at the sulking sky. It would rain tonight. Unclear sky hung over his head with a promise but his unclear head and situation didn't promise him anything that he could expect stepping into 221B.

John felt a numbness which he mistook for calmness on his way back. His movements were unhurried, mind placid, eyes cold. He thought he wasn't expecting anything. Actually he was expecting the worst subconsciously. He dragged himself up the stairs, he didn't flinch opening the door. He stayed completely calm when he saw the light was off in the living area. He stood in the darkness resignedly.

"John."

The voice called from the bedroom doorway.

The only light illuminating the tall lean figure was coming from behind him. Sherlock was wearing the best shirt John had bought him. In a navy blue shirt with two buttons undone at the top showing creamy white skin and dark trousers, carefully careless hair and a smug smile Sherlock looked _luminous_.

John took in the sight for a long moment before slouching down on the sofa in the dark and releasing a breath.

It was getting extremely difficult to live in such apprehension and anxiety day by day. John felt very tired. John wanted to do something, anything to make that image a fixture right where it was.

As if to prove it impossible the figure moved. He came before John and leant over him. John's nostrils flared to get as much as possible of the elusive sent of the man. He was wearing John's cologne. Strangely that made John feel this man was his.

"I'm all yours." Whispered Sherlock.

_For how long?_

"Let's get going. I'm hungry." John said standing up abruptly and switching on the lights.

"Aren't you going to change?"

Sherlock asked an awestruck John who was in the middle of the thought that how this man's beauty changed with different lights. It was as fluid as water, changing colors with the sun.

"Yes. I should." John said giving Sherlock a wink.

He went into the bathroom to get fresh and soon walked out into the bedroom. He chose his comfortable black jeans, a plum coloured T shirt and a black swede jacket.

"I'm done." He said adjusting the coat collar and coming into the living space and halted seeing a very wide eyed Sherlock.

John stopped and smiled letting Sherlock have a good look at him. Sherlock's gaze went all over him admiringly making him proudly blush.

"Wherever we're going I'm going to enjoy a great view." Sherlock drawled.

"Okay, enough flirting." John said trying to hide his flush.

Sherlock gave him a lopsided grin and went to take his coat. John had bought him the same coat he wore every time they met.

"Let's go." Sherlock said offering John his hand.

* * *

"Good guess." Sherlock said looking around the cosily lit small Chinese restaurant.

"It wasn't." John said looking across the table at Sherlock.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Just luck." John clarified shrugging.

After their order arrived which Sherlock had took the liberty to place both got engrossed in it. Tasting and sharing from each other's plates, feeding each other occasionally and taking quick glances around to see if anyone saw. John recommending sauces and Sherlock arguing. Sherlock trying to grope John's hand and John being evasive. Sherlock licked his lips suggestively making John still and took the distraction to finally pin John's evasive hand down with his own.

"This is too good to be true." John said resignedly.

"But this is true." Sherlock pressed.

"For now." John looked into his lover's eyes imploringly.

Sherlock's face fell and he withdrew the hand. All the previous playfulness gone within the instant.

John grabbed Sherlock's retreating hand in time and met his eyes.

"Sorry. I don't want to spoil this evening." John said looking sad.

Sherlock gave him a faint smile and looked at him with pained eyes.

John squeezed his hand.

"It's okay John." Sherlock said quietly. Then something like determination flashed in his grey-blue eyes.

"I just want you to know that I would do anything to spend my life with you." He said solemnly.

"Thank you." Whispered John trying to judge the validity of that thought.

* * *

It started drizzling before they got out. Sherlock started coxing John to walk in the rain.

"You are not quite strong right now and a cold is the last thing I want you to get."

"It's just drizzling! It'll just wet my head!" Sherlock whined.

John looked sternly at him.

Sherlock huffed and resigned.

But he compensated by putting out his hand from the cab's window and smearing rain drops on John.

As John paid the cabbie Sherlock stood in front of the door shaking the still falling rain drops from his curls. As soon as John approached he grabbed him by the arm and pinned him to the door.

"What…"

John was cut short by plush soft lips capturing his in an overwhelming all-encompassing kiss. Little cold raindrops trickled down their noses and into the kiss. The kiss was like a warm orb in the cold night. It was comforting.

After a few moments of pure pleasure Sherlock withdrew to look at a dazed, flushed John with a smug grin.

"A kiss in the rain was due." He said reaching for the door knob behind John.


End file.
